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in 2011 with funding from
Brigham Young University

http://www.archive.org/details/beautiesofenglisOOtill i

BEAUTIES

OF

ENGLISH SCENERY.

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:'! EC tfAELG MOUITT

' . CAXTON HOUSE NEWCASTLE ONTYNE
V v^ s \ —

BEAUTIES

OF

ENGLISH SCENEKY.

ILLUSTRATED WITH

TOvtg-fib* (Sngrabings on §ted,

FROM DESIGNS BY

W. H. BARTLETT, D. COX, W. DANIELL, E.A., H. GASTINEAU, C. BENTLEY,
G. SHEPHERD, T. M. BAYNES, Etc.

WITH DESCRIPTIONS BY

JOHN TILLOTSON,

AUTHOR OF

" The Album or Scottish Scenery," " Scenery in Wales," " The New Wavkrley Album,"

" Overland Route to India," etc.

LONDON :
ALLMAN & SON, 67, NEW OXFORD STREET.

vm

PREFACE.

That travel in the younger sort is a part of education, and in the elder a
part of experience, is a remark as old as Lord Bacon. But every year adds
to the pertinence of this observation. In these days of Steam, when horseless
carriages bear us over the land, and sailless ships carry us across the water,
travel is far more easily accomplished than in the old times, when my Lord
Verulum penned his Apothems and did battle with the Aristotleism of the
schoolmen. And being much easier it becomes more universal. Those who
two nunarea years ago would have regarded a journey from London to
Edinburgh with apprehension, in our days traverse continents and oceans
without the least shadow of trepidation. In fact, travel has become almost a
mania, a fashionable vagrancy which sends us up Egypt's Pyramids, or down
Golconda's Mines, and makes us intimate with all the peoples and nations,
and languages of the whole earth.

But it sometimes happens that in our craving after novelties — our search
after foreign wonders — our desire to travel east, west, north and 9cuth — that
we fail to recognize the merits of our English landscapes, become careT.iS3 of
the historical and traditionarv interest which associates itself with our ancient
buildings, and make no pilgrimage to those localities which have become
sacred to hero, bard or saint.

The Castles, Abbeys, and Barronial Halls of England, are surely worthy
of our attention ; the fields and rivers, hills and valleys of our country have
surely seme charms for us ; if our landscapes are inferior in beauty, and our
architecture less magnificent than those of other countries- -if this be the

r

VI

PREFACE.

case, for we admit nothing of the kind — they are still ours — our country, our
land, the fields where our fathers bled, the altars where they worshipped, and
the homes which have been made illustrious by their virtues, and which are
hallowed by their memories.

And this book of ours is devoted to English pictures — the work of
English Artists — and the scenes are of English interest. We offer them to
the reader in the confidence that their merit requires no commendation, and
that their national character will bespeak for them a place in English homes.

Of the descriptions which accompany the pictures it may be enough to
say, that the object of the writer has been, that of collecting such information
as might be of interest in association with each picture, and presenting such
information in a plain and intelligible form. Nothing more has been attempted,
and if the writer has succeeded in accomplishing this, he has done all that he
proposed.

CONTENTS.

CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL

il

TORQUAY

IS

THE RECULVERS .

15

PENZANCE

17

KINGSGATE, ISLE OF THANET

19

HULL .

21

THE OLD COLLEGE, MAIDSTNOE .

23

FALMOUTH

25

st. mart's church, minster .

27

BRIGHTON

29

THE ROCKS NEAR TUNBRIDGE

31

RYDE, ISLE OF WIGHT .

33

FOLKESTONE

35

PONTYPOOL

37

SANDGATE . . ,

??

SIDMOUTH

41

TUNBRIDGE WELLS AND CASTLE .

43

TTNTERN ABBEY, I.

45

TINTERN ABBEY, II.

47

SHEERNESS

49

CALDICOTT CASTLE

51

ROSAMOND'S TOWER

53

EASTBOURNE

55

LEWES .

57

MALLING ABBEY .

M

MATHERN PALACE

61

ELTHAM PALACE

63

THE TOR, DEVON

65

PENSHURST

67

HYTHE .

(59

DOVER CASTLE .

71

OLD CHAPEL AT EUDBROOZ

73

WORTHING

75

BROADSTAIRS

77

AVON VIADUCT .

79

LIST OF ILLUSTBATIONS.

Drawn 6y

CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL (Frontispiece).. T. W. Baynes.

TORQUAY D. Cox.

THE RECULVERS G. Shepherd.

PENZANCE H. Gastineau.

KINGSGATE, ISLE OP THANE r n. Gastineau.

HULL C. Bentley.

THE OLD COLLEGE, MAIDSTONE W. H. Bartlett.

FALMOUTH C. Bentley.

BRIGHTON W. H. Bartlett.

THE ROCKS, NEAR TUNBRIDGE .. G. Shepherd.

RYDE, ISLE OP WIGHT M. Kavanaqh.

FOLKESTONE G. Shepherd.

PONTYPOOL

SANDGATE W. H. Bartlett.

SIDMOUTH W. Daniell, R.A.

TUNBRIDGE WELLS AND CASTLE . . . .

TINTERN ABBEY H. Gastineau.

„ „ INTERIOR H. Gastineau.

SHEERNESS T. M. Bayne3.

CALDICOTT CASTLE

ROSAMOND'S TOWER G. Shepherd.

EASTBOURNE W. H. Bartlett.

LEWES W. Purser.

MALLING ABBEY G. Shepherd.

MATHERN PALACE —

ELTHAM PALACE T. M. Baynes.

THE TOR, DEVON D. Cox.

PENSHURST G. Shepherd.

HYTHE D. Cox.

DOVER CASTLE D. Cox.

OLD CHAPEL AT SUDBROOK H. Gastineau.

WORTHING W. H. Bartlett.

BROADSTAIRS

AVON VIADUCT C. Radclyffe.

Engraved 6y
S. Lacey.
J. Rogers.
H. Adlard.
J. C. Allen.
J. Allen.
H. Wallis.
H. Adlard.
H. Wallis.
J. C. Allen.
H. Adlard.
J. Rogers.
S. Lacey.

J. C. Allen.
J. Miller.

R. Acon.
W. Wallis.
J. Rogers.

S. Lacey.
J. C. Allen.
C. Wallis.
H. Adlard.

W. Watkins.
J. C. Allen.
H. Adlard.
J. C. Allen.
J. Rogers.
T. H. Shepherd.
J. Rogers.

W. Radclyffe.

CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL.

" The deep- set windows, stained and traced,
Would seem slow flaming, crimson fires
From shadowy grots of arches interlaced,
And tipt with frost-like spires."

The ancient city of Canterbury, the ecclesiastical metropolis of England) is
chiefly remarkable for its churches, especially for its magnificent Cathedral,
which is seven centuries old, and occupies the site of the first Christian edifice
erected in England. The choir is the most spacious in the kingdom ; the
nave, cloisters, and chapter-house are excellent architectural specimens of the
early pointed style — the central tower is 235 feet high, the length of the
church is 513 feet — all of which, with many more particulars of the same kind,
are duly chronicled in the guide books. But is it not a fact that the exact
height, depth, length, and breadth of great buildings conveys a very
inadequate idea to the mind of what the building really is, that in looking on
the time-worn towers, the fretted roofs, the graceful sweep of arches sup-
ported by clustering pillars, all exhibited to us in the l dim religious light '
stealing through the stained windows and flinging on the marble pavement
masses of purple, gold and red, that we forget all about the dimensions of the
edifice, all that guide books have to relate, all that a garrulous verger rotes in
our ear. The mind looks back — historical memories are revived — the great
ones of old — priests and princes move before us ; we see with the mind's eye
shadowy but stately forms, the master spirits of a bygone age — and the men
of mail and mitre play out their parts before us.

Here in Canterbury Cathedral, two churchmen, divided from each other
by six hundred years, are brought together. Here we think of Augustine,
who came hither as missionary from Rome, and being favourably received by
the Saxon King of Kent, repaired to the capital town, called Kent-wara-byrig,
since corrupted into Canterbury. The missionary band entered it in procession,
carrying the cross, pictures and relics, and chaunting litanies, and established
themselves in a church built by the Christian Britons, but abandoned in the
days of persecution which followed the setting up of the Saxon government. Here
they celebrated mass and made many converts, so that Augustine wrote to the
Pope, saying — "the harvest is plenteous, and the labourers no longer suffice."
Augustine accommodated himself and his faith to the habits and customs of
the idolatrous Saxons. Their temples were not destroyed but sprinkled with

holy Water, and christened by saintly names ; their sacrifices were not
forbidden, but were to be regarded as Christian banquets to the honour of God,
and not as offerings to idols ; their festivals were not to be abandoned, but to
be associated with the memory of saints and martyrs : everything remained as
it was, only under different names. A shrewd man of the world was this
austere monk Augustine, first Archbishop of Canterbury, a man of kindred
spirit with that other Archbishop who was murdered centuries afterwards on
the altar steps of the Cathedral.

Look yonder, in imagination, and conjure up a gaily attired hawking
party of the twelfth century ; gallantly mounted, bravely attired, they ride
with hawk and hound to dark pools, where the reeds spring up long and dank.
Who is it laughs the loudest, utters the wittiest repartee, whispers the softest
nothings in my lady's ear, casts off his bird and brings down the prey the
readiest? It is the young Englishman, Thomas Becket, who does not seem to
have in him the makings of a sanctified prelate. But the church is the
road to his preferment, and he takes it readily. A change comes over him ;
he is a devout looking monk, a man of vigil and fasting, of self-humiliation
and self-discipline : he rises rapidly, and another change comes over him.
Now he is the haughty bishop, the king's intimate companion, surpassing the
Norman courtiers in luxury and lordly pomp. Seven hundred horsemen, the
harness of their chargers embossed with gold and silver, are kept in his pay.
His ambition rises higher each day, but the ascent is dangerous ; the King
takes alarm, murmurs, half suggests he would be rid of him, and the rest is
easy. Soft and sweet rise the rich strains of music ; white robed priests are
sweeping past, and incense bearers swing their silver vessels and perfume the
air. Yonder stands Becket at the altar for the last time. Four armed men
have struck him down, with yells and oaths have bidden him die, and have
given him his death blow. They have fled on the completion of their
murderous work, and crowds of people have surrounded the corpse stretched
across the steps of the high altar — weeping, kissing its hands and feet, dipping
handkerchiefs in the blood that covers the pavement.

So Bishop Becket becomes Saint Thomas. A crowned king whose hasty
word has caused his murder, is stripped and flogged ; pilgrims from all parts
of England visit the shrine of the new saint : and the practice is maintained
for near four hundred years. This annual pilgrimage — of which Chaucer has
sung — was suppressed at the time of the Reformation

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BU *

TORQUAY

" Deep meadowed, happy, fair, with orchard leaves,
And flowery hollows crowned the summer sea."

When Napoleon the First surrendered to the English, and on board the
JJellerophon gazed on the seaboard of Torbay, he is said to have exclaimed,
"What a beautiful country!" And the coast of that portion of our island
deserves admiration. With its natural ramparts of rock, its shelving beach,
its gorse-crowned promontories, its background of fertile country, its glassy
sea, breaking in yeasty foam at the foot of limestone cliffs with summits
clothed with foliage, the scene from Torbay is unsurpassed on the English
coast. No wonder is it that Torquay should have become a favourite resort
of visitors; no wonder it should be called the English Montpellier, and should
attract so many thousands every year. Sheltered by the Braddons looking
out upon the sea, Torquay rises as in three terraces, — shops, and trees, and
villas, and terraces of stone, picturesquely blended. Here a handsome quay
and pier enclose an extensive basin; there modern houses, commodious and
elegant, stretch out to the slopes beyond Beaconhill; here in the open air
blossom the citron, the orange, the myrtle, and the aloe, and there the eye
rests on broad masses of colour, formed by rhododendrons and hydrangeas.
There is a noble Assembly-room for those who seek town pleasures out of town ;
agreeable promenades for those who relish the open air and soft sea breezes;
here is an ancient chapel four centuries old, and there a heap of boulders
marking the site of the monastic pier: more than all, here is a country exquisitely
beautiful, and a climate admirably suited to invalids.

Look out upon the sea, how still and calm it is, and as the red sun sinks,
presents a thousand variegated colours in the light ripple on its surface. There
are ships anchored in the bay, and one or two boats are coming in shore, but
there is nothing to disturb the peaceful serenity of the scene. The soft warm
breeze gently stirs the apple blossoms in the orchards on the coast, and plays
with the verdure on the limestone rock, the ocean stretches out to meet the
sky, and there is nothing but a shadowy line to mark their union. But the
neighbourhood of Torquay was not always so quiet as it is now. Vessels of a
foreign foe have appeared upon our Western coast, and threatened a descent,
and English fleets have ridden in Torbay, expecting nothing else but a smart

engagement with a powerful foe. Seventy years ago the people of the scattered
villages on the coast looked out with something of terror on the ocean, which
brought within sight of our shores a French and Spanish fleet, bent on doing
desperate work if the chance offered. But then, as in all such emergencies,
our English ships have been our wooden walls, and though the sailors be but
men, and ships but boards, they have offered so bold a front that no foeman's
foot has pressed our soil. Here in those troublous times Admiral Darby with
two-and-twenty vessels waited for the coming of the French and Spaniards —
waited for those who ventured not to come.

Once indeed the look-out men on the headlands saw strange sails
rising from the sea, and the people on the coast collected as those ships
approached, and a foreigner landed and was welcomed as England's champion
and future king. This was the Prince of Orange, afterwards William
III. James II. had by his tyranny and bigotry wearied out the patience
of his subjects. The death of his father, the exile of his family, had failed
to teach prudence to this unhappy Prince. The people had looked about
for a leader and a king, and found an able champion in their own king's
son-in-law. They had invited him to come over and help them, and he
came. For twelve hours his fleet drove before the breeze towards the coast
of Yorkshire, then suddenly backed, and stood down channel before the gale,
and on the 5th of November reached Torbay. The weather was rainy and
bad, and the Prince of Orange took up his quarters in a cottage, while his
troops were landing, and from its thatched roof waved the flag of Holland,
bearing the significant motto, " I will maintain the Protestant religion and
the liberties of England."

The result of the landing is familiar to all. The triumphal inarch of
William, the dismay of James, the enthusiasm of the people, the flight of the
king, the installation of the prince as sovereign of England, are well known
facts. And they are facts of immense importance. William refused to accept
the crown except as the gift of free men. He rejected the sophisms which
were used to induce him to accept it as Consort to the Queen, and when he
was proclaimed at Whitehall as an elective king, a new era began in English
history, new strength was given to our national freedom, and he stood forth
as the representative-man of England's choice — sworn to maintain her religious
and political liberties.

si

,N

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&

y

THE RECULVERS.

" A heart that loved too tenderly and truly,

Will hreak at last— and in some dim sweet shade,
They'll smooth the sod o'er her you prized unduly,
And leave her to the rest for which she prayed."

Near Margate is an interesting and picturesque spot known as the Reculvers.
There Caesar established a camp and erected a fortress; there the great
Christian king of Kent lived and died and was buried. But the sea, breakino-
in yeasty foam on rock and stone, has encroached each year upon the land, so
that St. Mary's Church, a good mile inland when Henry VIII. was kino-, was
gradually approached until it overhung the sea, and was finally dismantled in
1811. Two towers of an old monastic house still serve as sea marks, and
about these structures a strange tale is told, which told afresh may not be
uninteresting to our readers.

Long years ago there was a worthy and valiant man, and he was blessed
with two fair daughters — but in course of time the good man was dying, and
his brother, the Abbot of St. Augustine, came to receive his last wishes and
to impart the last consolations. The old man commended his daughters to
their uncle's keeping, to him they were to look as to a father, adviser,
and friend; in their deep grief they knew little, cared little what should happen
on the morrow, all their interest was centred on their dying father, and the sands
run out, and the lamp was extinguished, and the shadow of death was on
the house.

The uncle did all that he had promised. To the eldest, who wished to
enter the church, he rendered every assistance, and placed no obstacle in the
way of the youngest, who married Henry de Belville, who was unfortunately
wounded in some famous battle, and being carried to a neighbouring
monastery became worse and worse, until what between the dangerous
wound and the singular remedies applied, nature grew tired of the struggle
and gave it up. So the youngest daughter was widowed almost as soon as she
was married, and in the bitterness of her soul retired from the world and joined
her sister in the cloister.

Those two sisters had loved each other from earliest infancy with more
than sisterly affection. One had never smiled when the other was not merry,
ior been sad but the other shed tears. Their hearts were open to each other
— they lived for each other — the sorrows they had passed through together

bound them more closely to each other, and now in the quiet retirement of the
convent — these two sisters — whatever might be said of some of the other
sisters, shut out the world, and only hoped to tread the path of life hand
clasped in hand, till death should come — dark messenger of light — to summon
them together to that world where sorrow never enters, and where partings
are unknown.

Fourteen years had passed, and the serenity of their lives had been
undisturbed. My Lady Frances, the eldest sister, had been elected Abbess of
the convent, but nothing could change her affection for her sister Isabella, they
were the same to each other as they had ever been. One day, however, there
was a gloom seen on every face, as they assembled round the board of the
refectory — and it was whispered that the Abbess had fallen sick, and that
sister Isabella was distraught with grief. And in the little chamber where
the Abbess, distracted with pain and weariness, lay on her hard pallet, sister
Isabella wept and prayed. What would she not do if her sister was restored,
if the fever abated, if the impending stroke was spared ; her sister — for her
sake — struggled hard to live, and together they vowed, that if restored to
health, they would make a costly offering at St. Mary's shrine at Broadstairs.
After the lapse of a few hours, a favourable change took place : in two or
three days the Abbess was able to leave her bed, in two or three more to
appear in the chapel, and then both sisters took ship to make their pilgrimage
and perform their vow.

That night a frightful storm arose, it prevailed all along the coast, and
many a good ship went down before the morning. The vessel in which the
sisters had taken passage was among the number wrecked. Some of the
passengers escaped in boats. The Abbess in an insensible state was rescued in
this manner, and was safely landed, but in the confusion, the Lady Isabella
was forgotten, and when the Abbess opened her eyes and called upon her sister's
name there was no voice to answer. Two strong fellows, touched by her
grief, returned to the drifting wreck, and brought away — oh joy unspeakable
— her sister still alive ; she clasped her in her arms again, and saw her die !

The Abbess performed her vow alone. On her return to the place of the
wreck, she restored the church where Isabella was interred. The twin towers
looked out upon the sea, and beneath their shadow the Abbess and Nun —
united again in death — sleep soundly.

PENZANCE.

" Majestic Michael rises, lie whose brow
Is crowned with castles, and whose rocky sides
Are clad with dusky ivy ; he whose hase
Beat hy the storms of ages stands unmoved
Amidst the wreck of things, — the change of time."

Penzance, on the Cornish coast, is the market town of an extensive district,
and the port from which the produce of the neighbouring mines and fisheries
is exported. The town possesses many natural advantages, and its position is
one of the most picturesque on the English coast. Its noble bay and guardian
mount render it a place of beauty and interest ; the eye of the visitor gazes
now upon the rapidly improving town, now upon the crumbling feudal tower
on the summit of the rugged steep which commands it, and the mind is carried
back to those old times when the lords were paramount, and the peasantry
little better than the cattle which grazed in the meadow, and not so well cared
for as the horses which fed in my lord's stall. How times are changed ! What
would have become in those dark days of such a man as Humphry Davy, a
man whose name and labours are so closely identified with the locality. Had
he been fortunate, he might have been a monk or a lay brother in a monk-
house, feeling after scientific truth slowly and very unsuccessfully; or if
successful, bringing upon himself a charge of wizardry, and the prospect of a
rope and tar-barrel. Happily, Humphry Davy was born in better days, and
met a happier fortune.

But a very different place was Penzance in the early da}rs of Humphry
Davy from Penzance in our own : Cornwall was then without high roads. The
roads which traversed the country were rather bridle paths than carriage roads ;
carriages were almost unknown, and even carts were very little used. A few
years before the birth of Humphry Davy, there was only one cart in the town
of Penzance, and if a carriage occasionally appeared in the streets, it attracted
universal attention. Pack-horses then were in general use for conveying
merchandise, and the prevailing manner of travelling was on horse-back. The
luxuries of furniture and livery now common to our middle classes, were then
confined to the wealthy. In Penzance, containing a population of 2,000, there
was only one carpet ; the floors of the rooms were sprinkled with sea sand ;
the only newspaper circulated was the Sherborne Mercury, and this was carried
through the country, not by the post, but by a man on horse-back. There

-^-f

18 PENZANCE.

was no taste for art, or literature, or science; hunting, shooting, wrestling,
cockfighting, were what the people most delighted in. Morality was at a low
ebb — smuggling carried on extensively, and " Cornish wreckers," with false
lights to mislead home-bound vessels, gaining for themselves a frightfc'
notoriety.

In such scenes as these, Humphry Davy passed his early life. Pie -was
not of course exposed to direct contact with gross vice, but the evil influences
which arise from an ill-conditioned state of society were experienced b}' ln:n.
How he suffered from the school discipline of his schoolmaster Coryton, — a
fellow whose idea of training the youthful affections and educating the young
mind, confined itself to constant and unsparing chastisement. Poor Davy
suffered much from this system. But it did not destroy the elasticity of his
spirit. Davy, his hard schooling over, exchanged it for the harder lessons of
the school of life. But he carried a brave heart, and manfully struggled with
the world. Look at him in his little room at the apothecary's shop, the day's
business over, bending his earnest, intelligent face over his home-made
apparatus of phials, wine glasses, tea cups, and tobacco pipes; he is taking
time by the forelock, he is counting the golden grains of existence, he is
gathering up the fragments of his disposal day. And with what result? Hear
it, ye mining population, deep down in the bowels of the earth, in danger
every moment of being destroyed by that terrible fiend, fire damp — this
'pothecary's 'prentice shall give you a safety lamp, that shall make your work
secure ! Davy rose to rank and station. He found a friend in Dr. Beddoes ;
when he was but three-and-twenty, he was appointed Lecturer on Chemistry
to the Royal Institution, London, and at thirty-four he received the honour of
knighthood. When he was recognised as the philosopher of the age, when he
was surrounded by the most distinguished people in the land, it must have
been a pleasant thought to him: " What* I am I have made myself; I can
say it without vanity, and in pure simplicity of heart."

Penzance is justly proud of its distinguished citizen, and has improved
wonderfully since he was a resident in the old two-story house in Market Jew
Street. It boasts a handsome Town-hall, a Free School, a Geological
Museum, and more than one scientific society. ^

m B

N

KINGSGATE, ISLE OF THANET.

" Hither came from Eastern shores
The Angles and Saxons over the broad sea —
Fierce Battle- Smiths and Britain sought;
O'er came the Welsh, most valiant earls,
And gained the land."

More than fourteen centuries ago the British " sent their groans to the thrice
appointed Consul Actius," beseeching him to protect them from the savages of
the north. " The sea drives us back on the swords of the barbarians, and the
swords of the barbarians drive us back upon the sea ; help us, e'er we perish."
Such was the plaint they uttered ; for the Roman occupation, whatever else it
might have done for them, had not sharpened their military spirit. They cried,
however, in vain to their former masters. Rome had more pressing dangers to
guard against, and dearer interests to preserve, so the Britons were left to
their fate.

For help from a strange land the Britons had still to look, and in the
forests of lower Germany there was a hardy, fair haired, blue eyed race, who
had spread the terror of their name along the coast of Gaul, and to these the
Britons turned them, to lend their aid against the Picts and Scots.

They came in those boats which had ridden triumphantly over the stormy
seas of the north, by whose rude waves many a mightier navy had been
dashed to pieces ; they came with sixteen hundred men, commanded as
tradition asserts by two brothers, Hengist and Horsa, and they landed on the
Isle of Thanet. Their standard bore the ensign of a white horse, and their flag
waved victoriously over many a well-fought field. They defeated the
" barbarians ;" but it is unwise, so says the Chinese proverb, " to call in lions
to drive out dogs." These German allies demanded land as the reward of their
services, and gradually took possession of the whole island. But their descent
on our shores, commenced in adventure and continued in conquest, originated
and established the Anglo-Saxon race, which rising in Kent speedily spread
over the length and breadth of the land. How many pages of history are
filled with the triumphs of the Anglo-Saxon race ! The Anglo-Saxons have
" penetrated the vast fast forests of America, and peopled with constantly
increasing millions the Western hemisphere. They have passed the great wall
of China, and to them has been surrendered the immemorial sceptre of the
East. Their colonies are boundless regions, the seats of incipient empires of

20 KINGSGATE, ISLE OF THANET.

gigantic strength, where ten times the population of Britain may subsist in
contentment and affluence. Without pretending to the name of a military
people, they have acquired a dominion wider than that of Alexander or
Aurelian."

The vast importance of the event known as the landing of the Saxons
is obvious, when we remember that however the manners of our forefathers
may have been softened and refined by the Normans, our country and our
race owes all its strength and power to the Anglo-Saxons. They were the
ancestors of those Englishmen who have thrown so much lustre on the annals
of our country. The locality, therefore, which is known as the first landing
place of the Saxons is interesting, and to this the Isle of Thanet is indebted for
much of its attraction.

Kingsgate — represented in the accompanying illustration, is situated on a
steep, and anciently bore the name of Bartholomew Here Charles II. and
the Duke of York landed on their way to Dover. Near this spot is the villa,
built in imitation of Cicero's farm, by Lord Holland, on which Gray wrote
those bitter lines : —

" Old and abandoned by each venal friend,
Here Holland took the pious resolution
To smuggle a few years, and try to mend
A broke i character and constitution."

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HULL.

" There lie the ships,
Their sails all lose, their streamers rolling out
With sinuous flow and swell, like water snakes,
Curling aloft; the waves are gay with boats."

Hull is an important commercial town, with a noble port and extensive
docks. It wears an old fashioned aspect, for it is an old fashioned place,
dating from the times of Edward I. ; its narrow streets, brick houses, old
churches, contrast somewhat oddly with the modern improvements which have
been introduced, but the chief part is suggestive of some historical event,
or is associated with one or other of our line of kings. It was
christened by the first Edward, Kingston-on-Hull ; it contributed sixteen ships
towards the invasion of France in 1359 ; but it was not always on the side of
royalty, and knew how to shut its gates in a king's face.

It was upon this good town of Hull that, when the King and the
Commons were fighting, more than two centuries ago, Charles the First looked
with a hungry eye. It was a desirable place for him to hold, and as he
looked over his pieces with all England for his chess-board, it was evident
enough that to keep out of check it would be well to possess himself of this
Parliamentary castle, but the castle — or stronghold — was guarded by a knight
— none other than Sir John Hotham, who had sworn " fall back, fall edge, he
would carry out the wishes of the Commons." What Charles was unable
to effect by force, he endeavoured to accomplish by stratagem. One fitful
April day the Duke of York, and some other persons of distinction, un-
armed, and only desirous, so they said, to look at the old town and drink a
friendly cup with Sir John, arrived at the town. They were admitted,
received with all honour as became their rank. They were invited to dine and
keep St. George's day in good old English fashion, and of course consented,
and all went merry as a marriage bell. But suddenly, just before dinner-
time, came in Sir Lewis Diver, brother-in-law of the outlawed Digby, with
the news that his majesty King Charles was coming to share the hospitality,
with three hundred men at his back. Sir John Hotham was a man of prompt
action, he saw the ruse, saw the danger, and at once gave orders that the
drawbridge should be raised. While this is doing a cloud of dust is seen,
with lance points here and there flashing back the sunlight, and fast and
furious the king and his courtiers and their steel-coated troop come galloping

22 HULL.

up to the moat's edge — to receive no hearty welcome, but to have the gates
closed in their faces. The trumpeters ring out a note of summons, and Sir
John is commanded in the King's name to open the gates, but old Hotham is
not a man of half purposes — he meant to shut out the royalists, and he means
it still. From one o'clock till four the king parleys at the gate, and will not
enter with his twelve attendants, as Sir John suggests, but will surely bring
his soldiers with him, of whose company Sir John is not desirous. It is a
strange sight that of a monarch waiting his subject's pleasure outside a city
gate, but those were strange times when people of one country and kindred
were at war among themselves. Four o'clock from the old church tower, and
Hotham keeps his gates still fastened. The King offers terms, but Hotham
will accept none except his own, so the King rides away for an hour, to
give him time to consider. At five o'clock he returns, still to find the
drawbridge up and the gates fastened, and old Hotham stern as before,
refusing to allow one mounted trooper to clatter his horse-hoofs in the city
streets. Then Charles denounces Hotham as a traitor, and falls back with his
guard on Beverley.

Hull was subsequently besieged by the Marquis of Newcastle, and
successfully defended by Lord Fairfax. Charles II. greatly improved the
fortifications, and occupied the citadel by a large body of troops. The place
was held by the Jacobites at the close of the reign of James II., and was
surprised by the Protestant party, and the Prince of Orange proclaimed king.
The anniversary of this event is kept as a holiday.

])rawn "by Baitlett.

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MAUD STOGIE.

THE OLD COLLEGE, MAIDSTONE.

" And when he came to St. Mary's aisle,
Where nuns were wont to pray,
The vespers were suug, the shrine was gone,
And the nuns had passed away."

Maidstone is the principal town of West Kent, about five and thirty miles
from London. The situation of the town is well chosen, screened as it is by
surrounding hills rising from the beautiful valley of the Medway. The whole
of its vicinity is rendered peculiarly beautiful by hop gardens and fruit
orchards ; and as on market days one sees the farmers and farmers' wives
trooping in, their cheerful substantial look recalls the old rhyme,

" A gentleman of Wales, a knight of Cale,
And a laird of the north countrie —
A yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent
Will buy them out all three."

But our business is neither with Kentish yeomen or north country knights
— we have come to look at what remains of the ancient College of All Saints,
and to learn what we may about it.

We observe a gateway tower, a range of wall extending to another tower,
a portion of the master's house., a third tower, and a second gateway. There
is much that is interesting in the aspect of the venerable ruin, much to gratify
archeologist and artist, neither of whom are grateful, however, for the
"improvers'" work or the "restorers'" art. Time is an enemy to the noblest
building and crumbles it to dust, but Time is a generous foe compared with
Man ; Man, with his modern notion of restoring the antique, has much to answer
for — better call in the sappers and miners and blow the work into the air at
once ! These remarks do not bear heavily on Maidstone College, for what has
been done displays discretion, the ivy and many tinted foliage has not been
torn away from the grey Kentish stone, and modern stucco has not covered
up the work of ancient artists. The gateway tower, which is supposed to have
been the' college bakehouse, is very fine ; there is a noble apartment above the
archway — a chamber which was never completed — and the view from the
summit of the tower commands both town and river. The site of the refectory
is still marked, and above is a row of dormitories, In the tower terminating
this range is a room called the Treasury. On the side of the court towards

24 THE OLD COLLEGE, MAIDSTONE.

the river is the Master's house — and here the ancient building has suffered
most from modern innovation — and one is glad to turn away to a ruined tower
adjoining a back gateway, and standing by the old barns — part of the
monastic establishment looks out on the sunny landscape which stretches
beyond.

Six hundred years ago, Archbishop Boniface, " on hospitable thoughts
intent," founded a sort of wayside house or hospital, for the refreshment of
weary travellers, and especially for those pious pilgrims who were bound for
the shrine of St. Thomas a Becket. It was a kind Christian act, perhaps one
of the best things Bishop Boniface ever did while he wore the mitre. Is it
not written in the grand old book, " Be not forgetful to entertain strangers,
for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

It is said that the old tower, yonder, was the college bakehouse, and that
ample space was required for cliar:iable purposes. Kitchen and larder had
need to be large, when monks kept open house for pilgrims. About one
hundred and thirty-five years after its foundation, the hospital was incor-
porated with a college of secular priests — a master and six chaplains. This
was known as the College of All Saints, and flourished until the reign of
the Sixth Edward. In those days it was suppressed, along with similar
foundation

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FALMOUTH.

" The course of true love never did run smooth I "

Falmouth Harbour is one of the finest asylums for shipping on the coasf of
England. Its adaptation for this purpose was observed by Sir Walter
Raleigh, who pointed it out to Sir John Killigrew, and the good knight
accepting the hint, realised the profit of the suggestion. The entrance of the
harbour, between St. Anthony's Head on the east and Pendennis Castle on the
West, is about a mile in width, and it then stretches inland about five and a
half miles. The Castle — three hundred feet above the sea — was built in the
time of Henry VIII. , but has since been much improved and strengthened.
In the sixteenth century the site of the town was marked by a few fishermen's
huts, and was accounted a place of no importance. It subsequently became
the resort of Dutch traders, whose thirst for English beer is said to have given
rise to the name Penny-come-quick (Pen-coom-ick), from the speed with
which " mine host " of the little ale-house on the shore sold his good liquors to
the Dutchmen. But strolling by the sea side, watching the waves as they
come tumbling in, breaking in yeasty foam on the sands and rocks, the
thoughts revert to the old story of the Cornish lovers, which we take the
liberty of repeating here.

They loved each other with an honest, truthful love, he so brave of heart
and she so gentle and trustful — both so hopeful that the future stretching out
before them, dark though it seemed, was but as the ocean under night's
shadow, that, would presently blush in the morning light, and roll to their
feet m a flood of golden glory. Poor in purse, but rich in love — sure 'tis an
old story ! Well, the young folks married.

Who says Fortune is blind ; does she not sometimes slip her bandage down
a little — like a sly player in the blindman's game — and seeing honest virtue
toiling hard in the field, bid him leave his plough in the furrow and rise up to
wealth and honour. Over the deep sea came news — News, my love, news !
old Uncle Croesus has died and left us all his wealth ; and, what is this ? — I
must go, my love — a short parting — to arrange affairs ; you must remain — ah,
well : no wonder she sheds tears, and hides her face upon his breast ! And
now with her cousin, who has come to cheer her while her husband is away,
she stands upon the sands watching the silver sail yonder dipping into the
golden sea.

D

Letters have passed ; the good fortune is all true : the wealth of Croesus
surpasses expectation ; but my husband, when shall ray eyes behold you ?
Dear heart — he has contrived a pleasant deceit — bidding her not expect him
till a full month later than he means to come : how gladdened she will be
when she sees him, hears him ; and how she counts the days for his return.
Well, there is an awful storm. The waves have risen up to battle with the
clouds, and the clouds have come down to battle with the waves, and with ~
roar of thunder the angry elements have struggled in fierce contest : bu': there
is a truce at length ; the waves are calm, the sky is clear? and the sun shines
out, lending its glory to the sapphire sea. There are two women walking m
the beach — when he returns they will do so and so : he will wonder at the
pleasant changes they have made, the little surprises they have planned : and
he will soon be here. She counts the days upon her fingers, as if she were
telling love's rosary. What is that — floating on the waves, in-coming with the
tide — a seaman's chest — no — a human form — now, heaven heal his mother's
heart ! Now brought in, now carried out by the waters, the form of a man is
cast ashore at last : the cousin stoops down and sweeps away the matted
tangled hair : she looks on the face, screams, and falls ; the wife looks down
— looks up — oh, with what a look — and falls. A group gathers round them.
The three senseless bodies are removed ; every means employed to restore
them. Soon the cousin revives — then the man opens his eyes, breathes out
her name, but to a senseless ear. She is dead ! dead, stone dead ! and he — a
broken-hearted man — may only hope to meet her in the deathless world.

ST. MARY'S CHURCH, MINSTER.

" A Minster fair,
As ever lifted reverentially
The solemn quiet of its stately roof
Between the moon and stars."

St. Mary's Church, Minster, is a fine old structure, with a Norman nave
and early English chancel, and a tower commanding a noble prospect out
seaward to the Goodwins, and to the north over the Sheppey low lands and
Medway marshes.

The Monastery was founded in the days of the Heptarchy, and the
circumstances under which the foundation is said to have been made, are
related in a Saxon legend.

The lady Domnera had a brother, or it may be two, but whether one or
two, or five or six. Black Thunor, crafty of mind and cruel of heart, slew
them. Perhaps he was in love with Lady Domnera, and imagined, rightly or
wrongly, that her brothers did not favour his suit ; perhaps in hatred to the
brothers, arising from jealousy of their position at court, camp, or cabinet ;
perhaps — but it is unnecessary to surmise on the question, enough for us to
know that he dipped his hand in their blood, and that my lady Domnera
hastened to the king and cried for justice on the murderer.

They allowed a culprit in those days to purge himself of guilt — so far as
punishment went — by paying a fine. Every species of crime became so many
legal luxuries, one might commit all possible offences, break both tables of the
law, and pay for the damage in current coin of the realm. All the justice
therefore which the king could grant was of a pecuniary nature, and Thunor
was mulct in a fine. He was ordered to give up as much land as a tame deer
could cover in a single course. This sentence he felt deeply — it grieved him
to lose his good land, and he cast about in his mind how to cut the tame deer's
course as short as possible. He had no right whatever to interfere with the
run, if he lost every hide it was but an inadequate punishment for his offence,
but Black Thunor would pile " Pelion on Ossa " in the way of crime, and so
he resolved to stop the tame deer in its course, and save his land by
stratagem. But he forgot that his deceit and treachery might be overthrown
— he risked everything — and the earth opened and swallowed him up aVoe.
And so my lady Domnera — wisest, discreetest, best of women, erected a

church, founded a monastic house, and sought that peace in the cloister which
she never hoped to find in the busy world. Such is the legend of the
Minster.

History relates the foundation of the Convent, and how the Saxon
Sisterhood dwelt there together in harmony, until the lawless Danes disturbed
them, and brought destruction on them with fire and sword. From the ruins
sprang up another Church, to which King Canute liberally extended his
patronage, for all know the fierce idolaters in course of time became faithful
Christians, and Canute placed his royal diadem on a crucifix. The practical
utility of this act it would be difficult to explain, but the religion of Canute
was one of outward profession, and just as Black Thunor was supposed to
satisfy justice by a pecuniary fine, so King Canute was supposed to appease
the wrath of heaven by placing his crown on the head of a crucifix. Of this
same Canute it is related, as we all know, that to abash his too obsequious
courtiers he ordered back the rising waves, and drew a lesson of humility from
the impotency of his own command. It is told of him also that in a drunken
brawl — for the Christian Canute sometimes became intoxicated — he slew a
soldier, and in the morning, having discovered what he had done, mulct
himself in a penalty

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BRIGHTON.

"That palace, or china-shop, Brighton, which is it?
With lanterns, and dragons, and things round the dome."

The facilities afforded by the South Eastern Railway Company for excursion
trains to Brighton, have made that town one of the best known watering places
on the coast. Michael Angelo Titmarsh, is it not, that describes Brighton as
kind, cheerful, and merry, and adjures Londoners to thank George IV. for
its invention? And not without reason is its "invention" as a watering place
ascribed to that monarch. Picturesque scenery it has none, landward or
seaward ; a shore without a tree, and a sea without a ship, have but smaU
charms in themselves, but the artificial attractions of the place kept thirty-one
coaches on the London road in the old coaching times, and have brought down
more than seventy thousand visitors in a week in these days of steam.

Is there not the Marine Pavilion, that singular mixture of prodigality and
bad taste —

" With lanterns, and dragons, and things round the dome."

Now it is no longer a palace, neither is it " a china shop," but a show place
for itinerant conjurers and local lecturers. Is there not the Marine Parade,
rising sixty feet above the beach; and Kemp Town, like the best part of the
west-end of the Metropolis removed to the sea side? Is there not everything
to make the whole place as much like town, as town out of town can be? Is
there not an Esplanade, stretching along the West Cliff and terminating in the
Steyne? More than all, is there not a Chain-pier, in reality one of the noblest
features in Brighton?

This pier is 1136 feet long by 15 feet wide. It is supported on four piers
on oaken piles, driven into the solid chalk, and rising some feet above high
water mark. These piles are distant 200 feet from each other. " On each
side, the main suspending chain of wrought iron rods, four deep, two inches in
diameter, are carried over pyramidical cast iron towers 25 feet high, the
interior being employed as shops. Each division of the four spaces or bridges
is 258 feet long, and has 117 links of one cwt. each. At the pier-head, which
is paved with purbeck stone, they are secured in substantial frame works of
solid timber; on the land side, they are carried for 54 feet through tunnels in
the cliffs, and strongly bolted to a vertical plate of iron. The platform is hung
on the chains by 362 vertical rods." This great work was completed under

the direction of Lieutenant Brown, li.K. It was opened towards the cbse of
the year 1823, and cost ahout £30,000.

The exposed position of Brighton uu the coast, has rendered its history

somewhat eventful. Some writers say it was founded by Bishop Brithelm,

and was hence called Brithelm Stone; it is certain that it was colonized by

Flemish fishermen in the reign of the Conqueror, and that when the feuds

between France and England waxed fierce and hostile, Brighton was subjected

to piratical invasion, and had to keep a sharp look-out seaward, lest she should

be burnt in her bed. Now and again a fleet of small vessels would be descried

in the offing, and bells would be sounded and men-at-arms assembled, and

perhaps a gun or so boom out a defiance or a warning that Brighton was not

to be caught napping. Prior Jehan landed and burnt the town in 1514, and

thirty years later the French attempted a landing, but were scared from the

enterprise by the "pluck" of the Brighton men. When the Spanish Armada

passed by, these men of might stood to their guns, and hurled defiance in the

foeman's teeth. Never again — so let us hope — may hostile fleets be seen off

our shores, never again may an armada endanger our liberties — "compassed

by the inviolate sea " may we maintain our national glory unthreatened by a

foe — but should such hapless times return, the old spirit of patriotism would

make each right arm strong to hurl back the invader, and England would

never "lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.''

II

THE ROCKS NEAR TUNBRIDGE.

" With skill so like, yet so surpassing art,
With such design so fair in every part,
The reason pauses doubtful if it stands
The work of mortal or immortal hands."

There is much that is interesting to be found at Tunbridge Wells. It is not
so great a place as it was some few years back, for many are the rival
candidates which have put in claims to public patronage ; but the Wells are
still justly celebrated, and enjoy a large share of popularity. The handsome
Pump room, with its town and country sides, trees on one hand, shops on the
other, is seldom deserted ; the waters are still all powerful for the cure of
disease, and they have not lost their taste of steel, which, on the credit of
tradition, was first communicated to them by the nose of somebody, tweaked
by St. Dunstan's tongs ! To be sure Beau Nash is dead — the potent King of
Fashion, who once ruled with irresistable sway over everything — ladies' fans
and gentlemen's boots — he is gone, and knows no successor ; but still Tun-
bridge possesses many attractions, and not the least amongst them are the
charming walks around the town. One cannot be perpetually drinking the
waters, reading the novels in the Library, or attending balls at the Assembly
Rooms ; neither can one always feel satisfied with a stroll on the pantiles,
seeing and being seen by all the notabilities of the Wells, — one sometimes likes
to get away from this sort of parade, and to scamper over the common and
pay a visit to the rocks.

Very singular indeed are these Tunbridge rocks, covered with inscriptions
and overgrown here and there with fern and furze. The rocks are of the
Hastings formation, and similar masses occur throughout the Weald. Amongst
the most picturesque are the high rocks, described by a lady visitor as
" Salvator like," — and not to be observed without "a kind of pleasing terror."
Among the inscriptions is one written on a lap-dog, who was lost in a chasm,
and whose name " Bow " lives registered on the rock in verse every way
doggrel : —

" 1702.
" This scratch I make that you may know

On this rock lies ye beauteous Bow ;

Reader, this rock is the Bow Bell,

Strike it with thy stick, and ring his knell."

Thus abjured the sympathising visitor strikes, and the rock rings with a
metallic sound that may be resembled to a bell.

A great many people visit the rocks now-a-days, but in Evelyn's time
they were solitudes, and he has left on record his surprise at the " extrava-
gant turnings, insinuations and growth of certain birch trees," some of which
still remain and may be seen for sixpence.

The most remarkable amongst the group of rocks is that known as the
Toad Rock, a singular logan-like cluster, commanding an extensive prospect.

About seven miles from Tunbridge is Crowburgh Common, which at the
Beacon is eight hundred feet above the sea. The ruins of Bayham Abbey
offer considerable attraction, as they have been preserved (not restored !) with
judicious care, and are in excellent condition. About three miles distant from
the Wells is Eridge, seat of Earl Abergavenny, with its rebuilt castle and
exclusive regulations, contrasting unfavourably with Bayham. Queen Eliza-
beth passed six days at Eridge in 1578. " From Eridge, my Lord of
Burgeny's house," writes Lord Burleigh, " the Queen's Majesty had a hard
begyning of a progress in the Weald of Kent, and namely in some part of
Sussex, where surely are more wondrous rocks and valleys and much worse
ground than in the Peek." My Lord Burleigh had probably seen and
marvelled at the range called " Eridge Bocks," of Eridge green of the same
character as those nearer Tunbridge Wells. They are more important, how-
ever, than the High Rocks, and more picturesquely shrouded in woods of
pine and oak. About two miles further, and lying a short distance oft' the
Brighton road, are Harrison's Rocks and Penn's Rocks, named from the quiet
Quaker, who had an estate in the neighbourhood. All these rocks are worth

visiting.

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RYDE, ISLE OF WIGHT.

" Here lay their bones * *

* * and over them the sea wind sings
Shrill, and the sea casts flakes of foam."

This favourite place of resort is agreeably situated, and is rapidly increasing
in importance. Every season thousands of visitors take up their abode in its
pleasant villa residences and well conducted hotels, as the scenery offers
unusual attractions, and the climate is excellent.

Hyde has risen to its present popularity from a mere fishing village, and
dates the beginning of its prosperity from the construction of its pier. The
object of this erection was to remedy inconveniences in embarking and
disembarking, arising from the flatness of the shore. It extends from the
quay to low water mark, a distance of 2260 feet, and affords in fine weather
an agreeable promenade.

Ryde is well provided with amusements. The Yacht Club hold their
annual Regattas in the Autumn. The Theatre and Assembly Rooms are open
throughout the season, and the large room in the Town Hall is frequently
vised for balls. The excursions in the neighbourhood are numerous and
interesting, and sufficiently diversified to gratify all tastes.

The historical importance of the town is inconsiderable, but there is one
melancholy circumstance associated with it which can never fail to excite
interest and sympathy. The green mounds which were formerly to be seen on
the Esplanade, marked the graves of the brave seamen who perished in the
Royal George. Here their bodies were washed ashore, " and we did not much
like," said one of the old fishermen on the coast, when questioned on the cir-
cumstance, " we did not much like to draw a net for some weeks afterwards :
we were always bringing up a corpse."

The circumstances attending the destruction of the Royal George may be
briefly related. The vessel was an 108 gun ship, and bore the flag of Admiral
Kempenfeldt. " She was the best sailer, carried the tallest masts, the
squarest sails, and the heaviest metal in the service, and Lord Anson,
Boscawen, Rodney, and Hawke had severally commanded her. In the hurry
of repairing her keel, for which she was heeled over, the carpenter finding it
necessary to strip off the sheathing lower down to arrive at the leak, she was
laid still more over. The lower ports were open, when at 10 a.m., a sudden
squall from the north west threw her port broadside on the water, and she

filled and went down in three minutes. In addition to the crew, many-
persons from the shore were on board." The exact number of persons on
board could not be ascertained, but it was calculated that about eight hundred
were lost. This melancholy occurrence has been recorded by the poet
Cowper, in the following beautiful lines : —

" Toll for the brave !

The brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore.

Eight hundred of the brave,

Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds,

And she was overset :
Down went the Royal George,

With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave !

Brave Kempenfeldt is gone ,
His last sea-fight is fought ;

His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle ;

No tempest gave the shock,
She sprang no fatal leak,

She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath ;

His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfeldt went do^a

With twice four hundred mafi.

.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes !
And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again,
Full charg'd with England's thunder,

And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfeldt is gone,

His victories are o'er,
And he and his eight hundred men

Shall plough the waves no more."

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FOLKESTONE.

" A little while, O traveller, linger here,
And at thy leisure, eye, behold, and feel
The beauties of the place."

Folkestone appears to be built on an endless succession of hills over which the
town scatters itself, stretching up and down and in and out, toiling up an ascent
only to descend on the other side, and connected in the oddest sort of way by
flights of steps. "Rome," says Barham, "stood on seven hills; Folkestone
seems to have been built on seventy." " Streets, lanes, and alleys," says he,
"are here fanciful distictions without a difference, agreeable enough to people
who do not mind running up and down stairs." However inconvenient the
ascent and descent may be, and the general dinginess and slovenly aspect of
the place, the town is picturesque ; and in these days of steam and travel, will
probably make a fresh start, and redeem its lost character. It has begun
already to take rank as a pleasant watering place.

How came Folkestone by its name? Was it Flos stane, a flaw in the
rock; or Folks' stane the peoples' rock, or the rock of the fairy people? Who
shall say! The town is of very ancient date, and was a Saxon royal manor
before the conquest. The castle, which formerly overlooked the town, was
founded by Eadbald of Kent, on the site of a Roman watch-tower. Within
the castle was the nunnery of St. Eanswith, the first female religious home
established in Saxon England.

The South Eastern Railway Company have accomplished much to mo-
dernize and improve the old town, and it might more fitly receive royalty now
than in the old times, when it was found necessary to compel the townsmen,
on pain of sixpence penalty, to repair to the beach and scour the harbour at
the sound of the drum ! Here it was that mounted on a three-legged stool,
the Mayor thus addressed Queen Elizabeth, in 1573: —

" Most gracious Queen,
Welcome to Folkesteen !

To which her Majesty replied-

Most graceless fool,
Get off that stool."

Such things would not happen now-a-days — if a mayor did make a fool of
himself, royalty would be too corteous to name it. As to the improvements made

at Folkestone by the Railway Company, they deserve the highest praise.
They have " carried the railway right across to the seaward side, bringing it
thitiier through difficult passages, blasting gigantic rocks, and constructing
such works as cannot fail to call forth the admiration and wonder of the most
unenthusiastic spectator ; among these works is the magnificent viaduct over
the valley in which Folkestone lies. They have built a magnificient hotel, one
of the best in England; villas and new streets have sprung up; warehouses
have been formed ; a complete custom house establishment provided ; and with
the formation of the new indispensable line of Continental packets to Boulogne,
and its own natural advantages of good sea views, thoroughly salubrious air
and grand coast scenery, they have contrived at last to make Folkestone — the
latest discovered, and for some reasons the best watering place on the south
coast — a fashionable and attractive resort."

For ancient Folkestone — the old town on which the Danes of old descended
to ravage with fire and sword, and raise their war cry even within the
cloisters of St. Eanswith — we look in vain. The sea — ever restless and ever
changing its position — has covered the site. This is the case on many other
parts of the coast, while portions of land formerly covered by the sea, have
been left high and dry — sites for new towns — until the sea re-demands its old
domain, and quits the territory it has invaded and overcome.

Folkestone was the birthplace of Harvey, the eminent discoverer of the
circulation of the blood; at that period it contained no more than 120 houses,
and was a poor insignificant fishing town. Here also was born John Philpot
the antiquarian.

Pi

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^

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^

PONTYPOOL.

" Iron is taken out of the earth."

Pontypool, a market town in Monmouthshire, derives its name from a
corruption of Pont ap Howell. It stands on the side of a steep hill, near a
small stream, tributary to the Usk, and consists of two principal streets
containing some handsome houses and good shops. The old church has a
square embattled tower, and is situated on an eminence near the town.

The present importance of Pontypool is chiefly derived from the iron and
tin mines in the surrounding neighbourhood. It was formerly celebrated for
its manufacture of japanned goods, but this branch of trade was successfully
competed for by Birmingham, and Pontypool fell on its mineral treasures.

The produce of the manufacture of iron in Great Britain may be estimated
at about 2,300,000 tons ; an amount astonishingly large, especially when we
remember that a century ago it seldom attained more than 30,000, and even
in 1800 only reached 180,000 tons. The fiscal regulations with respect to the
import and export of iron, unquestionably affected the working of the iron
mines, and we may expect that their resources will be even further developed
by the recent commercial treaty with France.

South Wales is one of the most important mineral fields, especially for
iron making, in the world ; in North Wales, however, the production is very
limited. Shropshire, at one period, yielded a large amount of iron of very
excellent quality, but its extent is limited. Of the Dudley and Wolverhamp-
ton district of south Staffordshire, the yield is considerable ; and North
Staffordshire, although of no direct importance as an iron making district, is
remarkable for the amazing quantity of Ironstone which it supplies to the
Welsh and south Staffordshire districts. In Northumberland, Cumberland,
and Durham the iron works are gradually increasing in importance ; in
Yorkshire and Derbyshire the quality of the iron is very superior, and the
produce is large. In Northumberland, Cumberland, and Durham the iron
works are gradually increasing in importance, " the cost of fuel being so low
as to permit ores to be brought from many different localities." In Lancashire
and West Durham the production of coal is limited, but the quality is
excellent. In the Forest of Dean alone, " the annual production is about
thirty thousand tons. The supply of ore is almost unlimited, and the iron
made from it is celebrated for the manufacture of the best tin plate, and

always bears a high price. It is raised extensively for shipment to the
iron works of South Wales. It was worked at a very ancient date, either by
the Romans or Britons, as is evident from the remains of old workings along
the outcrop of the ore bed."

As we have already noticed, Pontypool (situated in the heart of the
mining district of Trevethen) depends for its prosperity on the manufacture of
Tin Plate, and on the mining operations which are carried on around. " So
rapidly," says a recent writer, " have these sources of employment extended,
that the population of the parish, which in 1802 was only 1472, amounted in
1851 to 16,864 ; that of the town likewise much increased, is 3708." Ponty-
pool has three churches and several dissenting chapels.

All the triumps of art are but the extension of man's dominion over the
material world. First to attain the knowledge of the properties of the
elements of which our world is composed, and then to mould or combine them
into whatever forms may prove most serviceable to mankind, are the objects to
which all the efforts of science are directed. In few things have we made
greater advances than in Iron founding, and the importance attached to this
work cannot be too highly estimated.

" Iron, Iron, Iron ! " crashing,
Like the battle-axe and shield ;
Or the sword on helmet clashing,
Through a well fought battle Held.

' Iron ! Iron ! Iron ! " rolling,
Like the far off cannon boom,
Or the death knell slowly tolling
Through a dungeon's charnel gloom.

"Iron! Iron! Iron! swinging,
Like the summer winds at play,
Or as chimes of heaven ringing
In the blest Millenial day.

Rugged Strength and radiant beauty —

These were one in Nature's plan;
Humble toil and heavenward duty,

These will form the perfect man !

Darkly was this doctrine taught us

By the gods of heathendom,
But the living light was brought us

When the Gospel morn had come.

How the glorious change expected,
Could be wrought was then made free :

Of the earthly when perfected,
Rugged iron forms the key ! "

-

SANDGATE.

" It stands,
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave."

Sandgate is a pretty picturesque old town, with a delightful country inland,
and a noble prospect seaward. The old Castle, built by Henry VIII. , was
converted into a Martello Tower during the old French war ; and here, or
rather at Shorncliffe, barracks were built in 1784 ; a camp established
temporarily in its neighbourhood during the peninsula war, and a permanent
encampment established within the last six years. In 1588 Queen Elizabeth
visited Sandgate, and in 1855 Queen Victoria reviewed the Foreign Legion on
the Sandgate downs. The change which the town had undergone in the
interval was of course remarkable, but no less remarkable was the change
which had passed over the public mind. Sandgate had developed into a
watering-place, and Radnor Terrace had perched on the cliffs above the
downs ; but this was as nothing compared with the change in public feeling,
and one would not willingly exchange for the good old ways of the good old
times of Queen Bess the free and enlightened progress which marks the reign
of Lady Queen Victoria. There is a singular story told about a smuggler on
the coast of Sandgate, which may not be uninteresting to our readers, and
may therefore appropriately be introduced here.

Well, it was many years ago when England having quarrelled with her
American colonies, and with her French neighbours, and with other good
customers and friends on the continent, and having enough to do to find
powder and shot for the heavy expenditure which these wars incurred, that
the Customs' duties were heavy and sharply exacted, and revenue cutters were
on the alert lest some daring " Will Watch " should smuggle a keg of eau de
vie. The quarrel between the Revenue officers and the smugglers on the coast
ran high ; they hated one another thoroughly, and many dashing adventures
were related how the smugglers eluded the Custom House officers, and how the
Custom House officers entrapped the smugglers. Off the Kentish coast there
was a well built, cleverly rigged little craft, which had often excited sus-
picion. She was a rakish looking craft, and her commander was a fit
captain for her — a rakish looking fellow himself, but as merry as man could
be. He was a smuggler : no doubt of that ; drying a few nets on the rocks,

40 SANDGATE.

now and then bringing in a small draught of fish, now and then seen at market
— could not deceive the lynx eyed revenue officers.

One night the lugger was sailing over the stormy sea ; it was rough
weather, and required a skilful hand on the tiller, but work was to be done,
and it was just the sort of weather in which to do it ; as the lugger came
round a rugged promontory a revenue cruizer suddenly hove in sight, and,
with full canvass spread, bore down upon her. A few hurried words and the
lugger was flying through the water, pursued by the cruizer, a hard, close
run for Dungeness. The smuggler and his crew knew and felt their danger,
but they spoke not of it — enough for them to avert the coming blow — there
was no time for words. Suddenly there was a flash of light and the loud
report of cannon, the cruizer was beginning to fire. Another flash, another
loud report, lost in the crash of splintering timber, for the lugger had been
struck. Another and another shot quickly followed, and escape seemed
hopeless, when the Captain ordered the men to lower their boat and quit the
vessel. They hesitated, but he urged them to their work, and so the boat was
lowered and the crew sprung in — " Now, captain, all is ready, quick ! "
" Shove off," he answered, " I shall never leave the old ship while there is a
plank left — away — I may save her yet." Alone on the vessel's deck he
stood, and with amazing daring turned the ship's course and bore down on his
pursuers. The shots fell thick and fast as that one adventurous man flew by
the cruizer, a volley of small arms whistled through his rigging, splintering
the spars, riddling the canvas, but he bore on and escaped in safety. The
story of the Smuggler's run became known along the coast, and the swift
lugger and her brave Captain never suffered from the hands of the Revenue
oflicers.

SIDMOUTH.

" It nestled in a valley, the faint spot of earth,
And outward looked upon the purple sea."

Sidmouth is one of the prettiest and most delightful towns upon the coast of

Devon. It is situated in a valley sheltered by lofty eminences, and intersected

by a little stream called the Sid. On the east and west the hills attain an

altitude of about five hundred feet, and are cultivated to the summit. That

on the east is known as Salcombe Hill, that on the west as High Peak. On

the south the town commands an extensive view of the sea. About half a

century ago, a portion of the High Peak descended into the sea and grounded

less than a mile from shore; and another portion of the cliff fell in, in 1849.

A very magnificent panorama is commanded from the summit of Salcombe

Hill, extending over a circle of thirty miles. The protection afforded to the

town by Salcombe and High Peak, is continued on the north by a range of

eminences, including Harpford and Beacon hills, which form altogether a

complete boundary to the valley, and render the climate exceeding mild.

A recent writer says : " Sidmouth should first be seen from the beach.

On gazing on those gigantic rocks before him, the beholder scarcely notices

the valley between. His eye wanders instinctively up the wild rugged

fronts — here green, and there blood-red — resting, as they attain the top, on

the refreshing verdure and homely cultivated land, there so finely spread out.

But what is that small object which, at first hardly noticed, is evidently

moving towards the verge ? Surely it is not a man ploughing, even at that

tremendous height. Yet it is so, and the man comes nearer and nearer by

slow stages to the very verge ; he pauses, turns (it is quite a relief to see him

make that turn) and guides his plough along, as though utterly unconscious oi

the five hundred feet between him and the sea, the roar of which to his ear

can come but as a faint murmur. As the ploughman disappears down some

slope, or sudden turn of the hill, the eye is drawn to a scene of more softened

beauty. It is invited to wander up the valley between the great cliffs, and

through deliciously cool shady woods and fields, and to catch glimpses through

the thick foliage of charming villas, with their gardens sloping down to the-

Sid. This river adds not a little to the beauty of the whole ; winding about

and every here and there seen in the sunlight glittering through the trees, as-

F

it comes to have its tiny voice drowned in that of the great sea, and leaving
on its way thither a clear, bright little pool on the beach."

This graphic description conveys a very excellent idea of Sidmouth from
the sea, and the attractions offered by its first appearance, are in no degree
diminished by a residence in the town.

The town itself offers comfortable quarters to visitors, either in private
houses, or in the hotels, and, while the surrounding scenery excites the
admiration of the artist, the climate is " strongly recommended by the
faculty." Are you a Geologist? take your hammer and ascend these cliffs;
the marl and old red sandstone, the flint and chalk of the shingle on the
beach, invite your attention. Are you a botanist ? here the wild flowers and
climbing plants which clothe the sharp outline of the rocks, demand your
notice. Are you a Conchologist ? well, here are thousands of interesting
specimens on the beach. Are you an Antiquarian ? here have been discovered
many Roman remains, coins, and spear heads which once belonged to Caesar's
invincible legions, and in the neighbourhood are many interesting relics of
church architecture — chief of them all, the Church of St. Mary Ottery. Are
you fond of country rambles ? here are the most charming walks imaginable.
Are you a disciple of old Isaac Walton? well, here is an excellent trout
stream. Are you fond of the pleasures of a Watering place, such as bathing
places, Assembly Rooms, &c, can give? well, here they are in abundance, — a
fine sea, a good Library, a capital Assembly-room : what more need be said ?

li— d

t=3

fc

N

TDNBRIDGE WELLS AND CASTLE.

" This castle hath a pleasant scent; the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentler senses."

Tcjnbridge Wells was first brought into notice on acconnt of its mineral
springs, in the early part of the reign of James I. Dudley, Lord North, a
dissolute young nobleman, had impaired his constitution, and been induced to
reside at Bridge Castle, then only a hunting seat, to recruit his health. His
attention was attracted by the peculiar chemical nature of the water, the effect
of which he was induced to try. Finding it exceed his expectations, he
consulted his physicians in London ; and returning on the following summer,
he again drank of the waters, and was completely restored. The report of
this extraordinary cure induced many persons to try the same remedy, and
these trials were in almost every case successful. The popularity of the Wells
— royalty patronized it in the days of Charles I. — was interrupted by the civil
wars, during which time Englishmen had sterner work to engage them, than
testing the medicinal virtues of a mineral spring. But with the restoration of
Charles II., the Wells revived, and Grammont gives us an animated picture of
the scene they presented in 1664: —

" Tunbridge," says he, " is the same distance from London that Fontain-
bleau is from Paris, and is at the season the general rendezvous of all the gay
and handsome of both sexes. The company though always numerous is always
select: since those who repair thither for diversion, ever exceed the
number of those who go thither for health. Everything there breathes mirth
and pleasure; constraint is banished; familiarity is established on a first
acquaintance, and joy and pleasure are the sole sovereigns of the place. The
company are accommodated with lodgings in little clean and convenient
habitations, that lie straggling and separated from each other a mile-and-a-
half round the Wells, where the company meet in the morning. The place
consists of a long walk shaded by pleasant trees, under which they walk while
they are drinking the water. On one side of the walk is a long row of shops,
plentifully stretched with all manner of toys, lace, gloves, stockings, and
where there is raffling as at Paris, in the Foire de St. Germain. On the other
side of the walk is the market ; and as it is the custom here for every persor
to buy their own provisions, care is taken that nothing offensive appears upon
the stalls. Here young, fair, fresh coloured country girls, with small straw

44 TUNBRIDGE WELLS AND CASTLE.

hats, and neat shoes and stockings, sell game, vegetables, flowers and fruit.
Here one may live as one pleases. As soon as the evening comes, every one
quits his little palace to assemble on the bowling green, where, in the open air,
those who choose, dance upon a turf more soft and smooth than the finest
carpet in the world."

From the days of Charles II. to the present time the accommodation for
visitors at the Wells has been gradually augmented. The houses are now no
longer either few or scattered ; it is a town of palaces, very elegant edifices
having risen up in every direction. The inns and lodging-houses are of a very
superior description, and Tunbridge is still what Evelyn described it in the
seventeenth century: " a very sweet place; private and refreshing."

The principal manufacture conducted in the town is that of the well-
known Tunbridge ware, and consists chiefly of a variety of toys in wood, tea
chests, dressing cases, etc. The celebrity and extraordinary success of this
beautiful ware has led to its improvement, and articles of utility as well as
ornament have long since superseded the toys that were formerly the staple
commodity of the place. Elegant specimens of mosaic work are now produced
containing, in some instances, upwards of forty varieties of native wood besides
foreign. An unique specimen of the taste and ingenuity of the Tunbridge
ware manufacturers was presented to her present Majesty, when princess
Victoria. It consisted of a table formed with king-wood, beautifully veneered
with party coloured woods from every part of the world. It was lined with
gold tufted satin, and comprised a complete writing and reading desk, covered
with purple embossed velvet, fitted up with cut glasses mounted in massive
silver. A side drawer exhibited a complete work box, with appropriate
implements of richly chased silver; the reels, runners, etc., being of sandal
wood, and the silk winders fine specimens of native and foreign woods; the
whole lined throughout with jrold coloured embossed satin. A drawer on the
opposite side was furnished with a drawing box, containing the necessary
colours, pallets, etc. From the lower part of the top a work bag of rich gold
coloured silk, appropriately ornamented, fell in graceful folds. The whole was
supported by a richly carved tripod of king -wood.

For two seasons Her present Majesty and the Duchess of Kent resided at
Tunbridge. The site of the old mansions is now occupied by the Caverley Hotel.
The Castle of Tunbridge, the ruins of which one represented in the
accompanying engraving, is supposed to have been erected in the eleventh
century, and is said to have stood a siege in the days of William II. All that
now remains of the structure is the keep, part of the walls, and an old gateway.

I '

m;ii' riJJ ' DIM I! 'I RA'NTSI P"

TINTERN ABBEY.

" There, amid solitude and shade, I wander
Through the green aisles, and stretch upon the sod :
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder
The ways of God."

Tintehn Abbey is a celebrated ruin in Monmouthshire, about five miles north
of Chepstow. It was founded in 1131 by Walter de Clare, grandson of
William the son of Osbert, to whom William the Conqueror had given the
manors of Wolleston and Tudenham, and all he could conquer from the
Welsh. It was established as a Cistercian Abbey, and dedicated to St. Mary.
Dying without issue, Walter de Clare was succeeded by his brother,
Robert Strongbowe, Earl of Pembroke. The male line of the Strongbowes
failing, Maud, the eldest of their female heirs, was married to Hugh Bigod,
Earl of Norfolk and Suffolk. In the early part of the reign of the third
Henry, William, Lord Marshal of England, and Earl of Pembroke, confirmed
to the monks all the lands, possessions, liberties, and immunities formerly
granted to them by his predecessors. Additions were made to these lands by
Robert Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, in 1301. But it does not appear that as a
monastic institution it was particularly remarkable. At its dissolution, there
were but thirteen monks, and its rental is said to have been less than £150
per annum. The site was granted by Henry VIII. to the Earl of Worcester,
ancestor of the present Duke of Beaufort, whose property it still remains.

Very beautiful and picturesque are the ruins of Tintern. The banks of
the Wye, on which they are situated, are for the most part steep and wooded
to the water's edge, but where the high ground is removed to a little distance,
low pastoral meadows occupy the interval, and it is in one of these sheltered
and secluded vales that the ruins stand. " Although," says Archdeacon Cox,
" the exterior appearance of the ruins is not equal to the inside view, yet in
some positions, particularly the east, they present themselves with considerable
effect. While Sir Richard Hoare was employed in sketching the north
western side, I crossed the ferry and walked down the stream about half a
mile. From this point the ruins assuming a new character, seem to occupy a
gentle eminence, and impend over the river, without the intervention of a
single cottage to obstruct the view. The grand east window, wholly covered
with shrubs, and half mantled with ivy, rises like the portal of a majestic
wlifice embowered in wood. Through this opening, and along the vista of the

church, the clusters of ivy which twine round the pillars or hang suspended
from the arches, resemble tufts of trees, while the thick mantle of foliage, seen
through the tracery of the west window, forms a continuation of the per-
spective, and appears like an interminable forest."

The Church was originally constructed in the shape of a Gothic Cathedral.
The roof is fallen in, but the walls are for the most part entire. The arches
which supported the tower preserve somewhat of their pristine beaut}', and
the arches and pillars of the choir and' transept are complete. The frame of
the West Window is in perfect preservation. The design of the tracery is
extremely elegant, and, when decorated with painting, must have produced a
very fine effect. Critics who censured this window as too broad for its height,
do not consider that it was not intended for a particular object, but to
harmonize with the general plan, and had the architect diminished the
breadth in proportion to the height, the grand effect of the perspective would
have been considerably lessened.

The grandeur and sublimity of the interior of the building, impresses the
minds of all observers. One cannot look without emotion upon a building
where Nature had added her ornaments to the decorations of art. Some of
the windows are wholly obscured, others partially shaded with tufts of ivy, or
edged with lighter foliage ; the tendrils creep along the walls, wind round the
pillars, wreath the capitals, or hanging down in clusters obscure the space
beneath. Instead of dilapidated fragments, overspread with weeds and
clotted with brambles, the floor is covered with a smooth turf, which, by
keeping the original level of the church, exhibits the beauty of its proportions,
heightens the effect of the grey stone, gives a relief to the clustered pillars,
and affords an easy access to every part. Ornamental fragments of the roof,
remains of cornices and columns, rich pieces of sculpture, sepulchral stones,
and mutilated figures of monks and heroes whose ashes repose within these
walls, are scattered on the green sward, and contrast present desolation with
former splendour.

i£]Rl®IK ©IF TO

CESHTEU

TINTERN ABBEY. II.

" A mighty window,
Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings,
Through which the deepened glories once could enter."

In continuing our notice of Tintern Abbey, we may remark that the monks
of old seem to have had a keen eye for the beautiful, and deserve well of their
country for having kept alive the love of art, and having bequeathed to later
generations legacies so rich in beauty and so full of historic reminiscences as
those hoary ruins that are scattered over the length and breadth of the United
Kingdom. " Light may the turf rest upon their bones ! They did well when
wearied with the ' toils and fardels ' of life to choose a spot blessed in sun and
soil and station, in which to end their quiet lives in peace and obscurity. Can
we blame them, if when disgusted with the hideous moral aspect of the dark
ages, they turned fondly to nature, ever beautiful and ever new, and took care
that nought around their peaceful abode should remind them by its harsliness
or deformity of the crimes and follies of the great world without ? Be this as
it may, this much is certain, that seldom is an Abbey found where the eye ot
an artist would not love to dwell upon the surrounding scenery." Tintern
Abbey is an excellent illustration of this assertion, and is besides one of the
most interesting remains of monastic architecture in England, and to the
decorations of Art are added the ornaments of Nature.

Our engraving represents the great West Window, the framework of
which is in good preservation, and is remarkable for its extreme elegance.
As we have already described these highly interesting remains, it is unnecessary
to offer further detail. The picturesque character of these ruins and the lovely
scenery by which they are surrounded, have been celebrated by many English
writers. The most popular of these are Wordsworth's "Lines composed a few
miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye." A quota-
tion from this exquisite poem may be appropriately introduced here : —

" Five years hare pass'd ; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters ! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain springs
With a sweet inland murmur. Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
Which on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion ; and connect

43

T1NTERN ABBEY. PART II.

The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under the dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts
Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
Among the woods and copses, nor disturb
The wild green landscape. Once again I see
These hedge rows, hardly hedge rows, little line*
Of sportive wood run wild ; these pastoral farms
Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up silence from among the trees !
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.

Though absent long
These forms of beauty have not been to m8
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye :
But oft in lonely rooms, and mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart :
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration : — feelings too
Of unremembered pleasures ; such perhaps,
As may have had no trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime ; that blessed mooil,
On which the burden of the mystery
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world
Is lightened ; — that serene and blessed mood.
In which the affections gently lead us on, —
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,
And even the motion of our human blood,
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body and become a living soul :
While witli an eye made quick by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things."

m

R

u

SHEERNESS,

" And the Shipwrights worked with right good will,

For they knew the country calls
For sturdy labour and cunning skill,

To build up her wooden walls."

Sheerness is a great naval depot, and very well known to Londoners. Taking
boat at London Bridge, we may steam down Thames and pay it a visit in a
day's trip ; we may make our journey by rail to Southend from Fenehurch
Street, and from the sands or the end of the long, long pier, take a sailing
boat over to Sheerness. Ships, seamen, and salt water : they deserve our
best attention. What should we be without them. We are a seafaring people,
the ocean is our natural element, our island safely compassed by the sea, our
boast in our wooden walls — what if our island were no island, but planted in
the middle of the continent, would our history be so brilliant as it is ? would
our achievements have been so great? would our power and influence be
acknowledged in both hemispheres ? No : it is to our insular position — with
Heaven's favour — that we owe our greatness — and therefore ships, seamen,
and salt water are very precious to Englishmen.

Well, let us take boat from the end of the pier, and go over to Sheerness.
The town possesses little interest, and owes all its importance to the dockyard ;
it lies on a small tongue of land, at the north western extremity of the island
of Sheppy. Town, we said, but there are in reality three towns, Blue Town
and Mile Town having entered into partnership with Sheerness proper. There
is a well constructed pier and causeway, and several old ships serve as
breakwaters to the town ; some of these used to serve as houses for the poorer
townsfolk, but this floating population has gone ashore and settled. Indeed,
Sheerness has been considerably improved within the last few years, and
presents a very different aspect to that which it wore in the days when George
the Fourth was king. A handsome gothic church has been recently erected,
and the town has evidently some idea of turning into a watering place and
rivaling its opposite neighbour, Southend.

" The dockyard, which covers an area of fifty acres, enclosed by a

substantial brick wall, has been greatly extended and improved during the

last twenty-five years, at an expense of above £1,000,000. It has every

convenience for the building, repair, and fitting out of ships. It comprises a

G

wet dock or basin of about three and a half acres, capable of accommodating ten
sail of the line, and in which they may take on board their stores, ammunition,
and provision, and be in all respects equipped ready for sea. Three dry
docks, each suitable for the accommodation of a line-of-battle ship, have been
constructed on the inside of the basin so as to open into it. It has also very
extensive store houses, with mast houses, mast ponds, and smitheries, and
artificer's workshops of every description, with handsome residences for the
Commissioners, Port Admiral, and other officers of the establishment. The
principal offices of the Ordnance Department were a few years since removed
to Chatham, and the area formerly occupied by them has been added to the
dockyard. The wharf wall of the south side of the basin, in front of the mast
house, is 100, and that on the river front 60 feet in width, lined on both sides
with granite, Numerous convicts are employed in the dockyard and in the
nulks, chiefly in the improvement of the repairs of the former."

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CALDICOT CASTLE.

" Beneath whose battlements, -within whose walls,
The Knights of old upheld these armed halls."

Caldicot Castle, Monmouthshire, is one of the many interesting remains of
the magnificence of the feudal age, scattered over England. Its situation is
not so picturesque as many that might be instanced, but there is that about
the venerable ruin which cannot fail to impress the visitor with a sense of the
ancient importance of the place. It covers a space of about a hundred yards,
and the prevailing style of architecture is Gothic ; there are, however,
unquestionable signs of some portions of the edifice having been erected at an
earlier date, and part of it is ascribed to Saxon Harold. The Castle was the
property of Bolingbroke, and in visiting the scene of his former splendour, the
events of his bold ambitious career recur to the mind.

Henry of Bolingbroke was no ordinary man, and King Richard was weak
and headstrong, ill-suited for the age in which he lived. " Our Edward," it
was said, " struck terror to the heart of Paris, but under Richard we court a
French alliance, and tremble at the idea of a war in London." The king, who as
a boy had won the favour of the people by his courage and readiness, as a msni
became hateful to peers and people alike. He reigned like a tyrant. " In
those days," says Froissart, " there was none so great in England that durst
speak against anything that the king did. He had a council suitable to his
fancies, who exhorted him to do what he list. He kept in his wages ten
thousand archers, who watched over him clay and night." But such high and
absolute bearing could not last. Only a throne established in righteousness
and broad based upon the people's will, can endure. Tyranny must fall, and
while the king entertained himself with every kind of excess, and his cooks and
scullions were an army in themselves, a beggared, starving people looked on
and wondered how long this state of things would last.

It was the right time for usurpation, and the king's suspicion and well
known hatred of Bolingbroke, his conduct at the trial by battle, and illegal
condemnation of both Norfolk and Lancaster, was very well known. There
was no law in the land but the will of King Richard, when the two greatest
peers of England wTere banished, and he therefore set no limit to his despotism.
Henry of Lancaster watched the progress of events, saw them every day
becoming worse ; he knew that the affections of the people were with him, and

52

CALDICOT CASTLE.

he came back, ostensibly to set wrong things right, but in reality to seize the
crown.

Royalty in misfortune usually excites our sympathy. The uncrowned
king, stripped of his royal robe, the sceptre wrenched from his grasp, is
generally commiserated. King Richard's overthrow, riding on a miserable
hack as prisoner beside the successful Bolingbroke, was a touching sight ; but
it seems to have excited little regret in the minds of the people, no one
appeared to pity his fate, and Froissart tells us his very dog left his side and
fawned on Bolingbroke. Shakespeare makes the Duke of York describe the
scene of Richard's entrance into London : —

" Theu, as I said, the duke, great Bolinbroke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his aspiring rider seemed to know —

With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,

While all tongues cried — God save thee, Bolinbroke ;

You would have thought the very windows spake,

So many greedy looks of young and old

Through casements darted their desiring eyes

Upon his visage ; and that all the walls

With painted imag'ry had said at once —

Jesu preserve thee ! Welcome, Bolinbroke !

While he from one side to the other turning

Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,

Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen.

And thus still doing, thus he passed along.

As in a theatre, the eyes of men

After a well graced actor leaves the stage,

Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious :

Eveu so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes

Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ;

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home,

But dust was thrown upon his sacred head."

The result of Bolingbroke's popularity was such as might have been
expected. Richard abdicated — he resigned the crown to his cousin — whj*
formally deposed — and Pontefract was the closing scene of the tragedy.

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ROSAMOND'S TOWER.

" All undistinguished in the glade,
Her sire's glad home is prostrate laid ! "

The line of demarcation between the facts and fictions of history is not very
distinctly marked. You remember the anecdote of Walter Raleigh, who was
about to write the History of the World : while he was planning out his book,
a quarrel or disturbance of some sort took place in the courtyard beneath his
window. He listened, and imagined he had ascertained all about it. On the
entrance of a Avarder he questioned him, in order to confirm his own impres-
sions, but to his surprise received an entirely different version of the story.
He questioned another warder, and heard a new version altogether, and so he
laid down his goose quill in despair, for how could a man write a history of
what took place thousands of years ago, thousands of miles away, when he
could not separate fact from fiction in a circumstance which takes place under
his own window but half an hour agone ?

There are some events in history so obviously fabulous, that historians at
once reject them. Such are the stories of the wolf suckling Romulus ;
Perseus killing the Gorgon ; Jason obtaining the Golden Fleece by aid of the
treacherous Medea. But they accept many statements and stories in modern
history, which are singularly open to objection. I wonder, for instance,
whether it is really true that on the Roman galleys approaching the South
Foreland the standard bearer of the tenth legion bravely leaped overboard,
and called on his comrades to follow ? I wonder if Caractacus, that noble
.British chief, addressed Claudius in the lofty and eloquent speech which
Tacitus ascribes to him ? I wonder if Archdeacon Gregory, on seeing some
British children on sale in a Roman market, really made that silly joke about
cmgli being co-heirs with angels ? I wonder whether Alfred the Great was
really rated by the neatherd's wife for burning the cakes he should have baked
for breakfast ? I wonder whether Canute's courtiers were really reproved by
that monarch for their sycophancy on the sea-shore ? I wonder if it be true
that Becket's mother came to London to find her lord in the singular way
described by the historians ? I wonder, more than all, how much is true
about Fair Rosamond and the vengeance of Queen Eleanor — and I am
inclined to think that Fiction has much more to do with it than Fact.

The story of Fair Rosamond — so closely associated with the old tower which

bears her name — is enveloped by the romantic traditions, which have taken a firm
hold on the popular mind, but have very little foundation in truth. S'he was the
daughter of a Herefordshire baron, " the beautiful site of whose antique castle
is still pointed to the traveller, between the town of the Welsh Hay and the
city of Hereford, at a point where the most romantic of rivers, after foaming
through its rocky narrow bed in Wales, sweeps freely and tranquilly through
an open English valley, of surpassing loveliness." Well, it appears that long
before Henry became king, he fell in love with this Fair Rosamond, and that
reasons of state preventing his union with her, she retired into a monastery,
which he richly endowed. At one stroke, the romantic story of the secret
bower at Woodstock, the unhappiness of Queen Eleanor, and the terrible form
which her jealous vengeance assumed, is destroyed. No such circumstances
as those of the story occurred ; Rosamond loved the amiable young prince,
not wisely, but too well, and, when the dream was over, she sought that
peace and consolation which the age offered, and hid her sorrow in the cloister.
The religious house selected by her was " the little nunnery in the rich mea-
dows of Evenlod, near unto Oxford."

The chronicler Brampton, who lived and wrote a hundred and fifty years
after the death of Rosamond, was the first who made any mention of the
romantic and mysterious bower. He says " that in order that she might not
be easily taken unawares by the Queen, Henry constructed near Wodestoke a
bower for this most sightly maiden, a wonderful contrivance, and not unlike
the Daadalean labyrinth" ; but he speaks only of " a device against surprise,"
and intimates in clear terms that Rosamond died a natural death. The clue of
silk, and the poison bowl forced on her fair and gentle rival by the the jealous
and revengeful Eleanor, were additions of a still more recent date.

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EASTBOURNE.

;t U plane! solitudes, warren, and heaths,
And yellow commons, and birch shaded hollows,
And hedgerows bordering unfrequented lanes,
Bowered with wild roses and the clasping woodbine ;
Where purple tassels of the tangling vetch
With bitter sweet and byrony in-weave,
And the dew fills the silver bindweeds cups ;
The rudest scenes and brooks, whose humid banks
Nourish the harebell and the freckled grazil."

In ianguage thus breathing of the pure air and the fresh flowers, Charlotte
Smith describes the local scenery of Eastbourne. Of the same place Charles
Lamb wrote, it is "the middle state of dulness between Worthing and
Hastings." Both spoke as they felt, both were warranted in saying what they
did by the facts of the case. They looked at Eastbourne and its neighbour-
hood from different points of view. An ardent admirer of Nature, with eyes
that caught the picturesque aspect of a landscape, with a heart thoroughly
alive to the beauties which are scattered over every scene, if we have but eyes
to see them, the poetess described that for which Charles Lamb had but little
sympathy. He was a town man ; clever, sagacious, whimsical, witty, but
essentially of the city and its ways. Eastbourne was to him a watering place
with few attractions — no noisy thoroughfares, no busy stirring traffic, no
quiet cozy parties, no news, no plays — nothing but sea and shore, green fields
and green ocean, and albeit possessing a large genial heart, Elia had no great
taste for Sylvan scenery and charming landscapes. To those who really admire
the beauties of Nature, who enjoy a walk under the shadow of green trees,
who love to look out on the sea, gathering the wonders of shell and water
plant upon its sands, Eastbourne presents many interesting features ; but
although it has made rapid progress within the last few years, it has not
yet arrived at the dignity of a first-rate watering place.

As the scene of historical events, Eastbourne has no claim on our notice.
No great battle has there been fought, no royal pageant has there been given,
jao dark treason has there been plotted — all that can be said for it is that
Henry I. rested there for a short time, about eight centuries ago, because the
tempest was so violent he could not put out to sea.

As the birthplace of great men, Eastbourne has but little to interest the

5fl

EASTBOURNE.

visitor who desires to make pilgrimage to such places. Mortimer the painter
was born there, but no other great name is entered on its baptismal register.

But there is something to interest the antiquarian. The Roman remains
which have been discovered, the pavement, bath, etc., show that some Roman
citizen or Romanized Briton had here his villa, and dwelt on our coast much
in the same style as the people of Pompeii. The admii'er of ecclesiastical
antiquities may also find much to admire in the old church of St. Mary, with
its lofty tower, chancel and Flemish window. On the chalk cliffs is St.
Gregory's Chapel, but the bells — where are the bells? — to find them we must
cross to Dieppe.

The bay of Eastbourne is remarkably fine ; to the west extends a strong
wall rising up to Beachy Head, and crowned with a lighthouse. The view
from this elevation is exceedingly grand — Hastings, Pevensey, Dover, are
dotted along the coast, and to the west is seen the Isle of Wight, the ocean
stretching out southerly to the shores of France.

The lighthouse below the redoubt was built in 1831.

LEWES.

" Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain
Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o'er
Conducts the eye along his sinuous course."

Lewes is an ancient town of Sussex, which for six centuries or thereabouts has
returned two members to Parliament. It contains many curious ecclesiastical
remains, and several parish churches ; a market house and other public
buildings. It is picturesque in its aspect, and crowded with historical associ-
ations reaching back to the days of Athelstan, who established his royal mint
in the old town. Here was a manor belonging to the king ; here was a priory
built by the daughter of the Conqueror; here was a cloister school, in which
many a subsequently great man received his education ; here the Earl of
Dorset built a mansion, high on a mound to save himself from the prying eyes
of watchful neighbours ; and here behind the meeting-house William Hunt-
ingdon found a grave, and his tombstone still describes him as the " Coal-
heaver beloved of his God but abhorred of men."

In Walcott's description of Lewes it is stated, that "Of the grand Minster
and nine parish churches, only portions of the ancient structures remain. The
nave of St. John's sub Castro is original ; in the church is an inscription of
the fourteenth century in memory of Magnus the Dane. The chancel was
pulled down in 1587. The altar piece, the " Presentation of Little Children,"
was taken at sea by Captain Pawlett, and given to the church by John Crofts
in 1751. St. Anne's (traditional Norman), really dedicated in honour of SS.
Peter and Mary, was at the time of the Union transferred to a royal patroness,
not mentioned in the Calendar ; the miserable alterations made in 1775 have
been removed, and the church restored. The font is ancient ; the tower is
plain but Early, with a short spire, some portions are Norman and some fine
Early English. In it was buried Dr. Twyne, died 1613, one of the earliest
translators of Virgil. St. Michaels in Foro (High Street) was repaired with
bad taste in 1755, but contains, like St. Thomas's, some good perpendicular
portions. It contains the brasses of Warren, 1420, and Bradford Priest,
1445, and a monument to the gallant Sir Nicholas Pelham, died 1559, who
chased the French out of Seaford ; his helmet hangs over the tomb. On the
road to Southover is the old square tower — perpendicular — of All Saints ; the

remainder of the building. 80 feet by 40, was rebulit by Wylde in 1807. The

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picture of St. John in prison was brought from Italy, and presented by the
Earl of Chichester."

St. Tliomas a Beckett, at Cliffe, has a picture of the Ascension, by Van der
G-ucht, given in 1779, and an organ on which Handel played at Canons. St,
John Baptist, Sou-thover, adjoining the Priory, of the stones of which it was
partly rebuilt, has a belfry, erected 1698, and an altar piece of the Last Supper,
by Mortimer.

It will thus be seen that Lewes and its neighbourhood have much to offer
the admirer of ecclesiastical antiquities, and many curious examples of the
styles of architecture which have succeeded each other in the old church
building age. Scarce any trace remains, however, of the Old Priory. The
postern of the great gate has been removed to the end of Southover-terrace ;
the gravestone of the founder has been placed in Southover Church, together
with the coffins both of Earl Warrenor and Gundreda his wife. An old
crypt is still shown wherein offending monks are supposed to have been
incarcerated, and there is a portion of an old staircase and some broken doAvn
wall evidently connected with it, and no doubt belonging to the original
building.

Lewes is remarkable as the scene of the great battle in 1624, between
Henry III. and his barons. The army of Henry was greatly superior in
numbers to that of the enemy, and he waited their approach in the hol-
low or valley of Lewes. The barons halted and passed the night on the
downs, about two miles distant, where every means was employed to arouse
the confidence of the troops. Every man wore a white cross in token that he
was engaged in a sacred war, every man was promised promotion who
survived, and a crown of martyrdom if slain. A solemn absolution was
pronounced by the clergy, and so the night passed, and the morning dawned.
The signal was given to advance, and soon the battle began and was continued
with unrelenting ferocity on both sides. The Prince (afterwards Edward I.)
fell with his belted knights on a rudely armed body of Londoners, and chased
them from the field, burning for vengeance on the rebels he swept with his
shining squadron far away from the scene of battle to deal destruction on the
citizen soldiers — and returned at last wearied from the slaughter, to learn the
fatal blunder he had made. Leaving the Londoners to shift for themselves,
Leicester and his fellow barons concentrated all their forces on the King's
army — they broke his ranks, they covered the field with slain ; Henry himself,
and the King of the Romans, and Robert Bruce and John Comyn, were taken
prisoners, and the young Prince soon shared their fate.

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ALLING ABBEY.

" Now sunk, deserted, and with weeds o'ergrown,
Yon prostrate walls that awful fate bewail,
Low on the ground that topmost spires are thrown.
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The ivy now with rude luxuriance bends
Its tangled foliage through the cloistered space,
O'er the green windows' mouldering height ascends,
And fondly clasps it with a last embrace."

There Is much of interest in an old ruin, and to the thoughtful mind there are
suggestive associations in every crumbling edifice. There are " Sermons
in stones," homilies full of the lesson — Vanitas Vanitatum.

The remains of Mailing Abbey, represented in the accompanying illustra-
tion, are of ancient date. "The principal Norman fragments," says the Guide
Book, " is the west front of the Abbey Church, of which the slender turrets and
ornamental pilasters so greatly resemble the west front of Rochester Cathedral,
as to leave little doubt that both are the work of the same designer. The
cloisters now included in the modern residence, are early ecclesiastical, with
broad trefoil arches. The fronting of the great gateway, which is entire, is
perpendicular, but examination shows this to be only a facing. To thjs gate-
house a chapel was attached, which has been recently restored."

The Abbey appears to have been originally founded in the early days of
the Normans, and to have gone on increasing in wealth and importance until
the dissolution of religious houses in the reign of Henry. In looking back,
therefore, on the history of this venerable edifice, imagination pictures the
fretted roofs and long drawn aisles, in all the exquisite beauty of their early
days; a subdued light, tinted by painted glass, falls in shades of gold and purple
on the marble floor, and the high altar, gorgeous with its holy vessels, brilliant
with tapers, mysteriously veiled in a cloud of incense, rises up before us.
Hear the rich full notes of praise, that roll wave upon wave like a sea of
harmony through the sacred building ; see the long line of priests and choristers
approaching, the snow white robes of the youthful singers giving relief to the
splendid vestments of the priests; here walks a stately figure with a jewelled
mitre on his head, attendant priests bearing other ensignia of his episcopal
office ; see how the throng of worshippers bend down before him, and with
reverence and awe accept the blessing he pronounces. How much there is to

60 MALLING ABBEY.

strike the senses, to appeal to the passions, to Avarm the imagination, to enkindle
the feeling of devotion; and in an age of barbarous ignorance and chivalric
exploit when men felt much and reasoned little, such spectacles exercised an
immense influence over the popular mind. Imagine that it is the old feudal
time; a squire is to be knighted, he comes to the ancient Abbey as the twilight
deepens into night, and keeps his solitary vigil in the church. There he prays,
counting his Aves and Paters before the high altar, on which his sword is
placed. In the sacred precints of this Christian temple, hallowed by the prayers
and praises of the devoted and the faithful, surrounded by the emblems ot
Christian chivalry, impressed by the conviction that Michael and his hero-
angels are smiling on his purpose, that alone — there are unseen eyes watching
him, unseen forms hovering around him — the squire bows down in heart and
spirit, and the death-like silence intensifies his religious zeal. To-morrow he
takes the oath of chivalry, to be faithful to religion and virtue, so help his God
and his own right hand.

And others there were who came to this old Abbey to swear oaths of
fidelity different from those of the young soldier. It may be that it was the
soldier grown old, " tired of war's alarms," who came to lay his bones in the
sepulchre of the cloister. He surrenders hauberk and casque, sword and
shield, and accepts the frock and cowl, the girdle of rope and the black rosary
— he walks abroad no more, and ends his days as a monk in the solitude of the
monastic cell. All these conditions of life were closely associated with the
days of chivalry, and an old structure like that of Mailing Abbey, suggests
thoughts of the priests and soldiers who ruled the world between them.

'A mild find tender light:
Softens down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and fills up,
As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful, which of old was so:
And making that which was not."'

_

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MATHERN PALACE.

" Here too were living flowers."

To make pilgrimage to a palace — not in the heyday of its glory, but in its
sere and yellow leaf — is fraught with an interest peculiarly its own. Its ancient
walls, dismantled towers, deserted halls, suggest a thousand fancies of the old,
old time. It is not what really happened in these desolate king's courts that
affects us so much, as what is suggested by the bare walls and coloured by
the imagination.

Here royalty held its state. Here the courtiers thronged around the
king, and did obeisance in his royal presence; here men wore their softest
raiment, and rivalled each other in their brave attire and hollow courtesies.
Here they listened with 'bated breath to a royal jest or a royal threat, and
laughed or were serious according to the monarch's mood. But how many
cares, anxieties, troubles, trials, temptations were found within the arrased
walls ; how many hearts aching beneath velvet and ermine ; how much love
and hatred covered with smooth affectations of ennui and indifference.

After all, palaces are only houses, and royalty and nobility but common clay
— sons of Adam and daughters of Eve — inheritors of the old legacy of sin and
sorrow and suffering. Time changes the condition of the individual, from child-
hood to maturity, from maturity to old age, but it changes not the condition of
the race, born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. The man of toil, toils on, rough
food sustains him, and coarse raiment clothes him ; such toilers are found every-
where in all time, toilers to whom Fortune deals out her blanks and never gives one
prize, who have to bear and suffer all their lives long, and to die at last without
the world knowing or carino; what that end mav be. And there is the man ot
wealth surrounded by all which can minister to his comfort, crowned with
myrtle at his festive board, and hearing no language but that of adulation.
He is nature's spoilt child, so it seems, for whom is reserved her brightest
smile and richest gift, — his whole life an ovation, and his death the signal for a
wide spread grief. But is it true that Fortune is so partial, and that her best
gifts are given without some counteracting evil? Do roses grow without
thorns? Is there not some grand compensation going on even in this life?
And is there not more real happiness sometimes beneath the simple dress of a
rustic labourer, than in the hearts of those who wear the richest robes, and
dwell in kings' palaces?

62

MATHERN PALACE.

Men and women, that is all we are; whether the Indian worm or Indian
plant, the silk or cotton be our clothing : men and women, with our loves and
hatreds, our hopes and fears. And this it is which, to a contemplative mind,
gives interest to a deserted building. Here, of old, men and women played
their parts, as we are playing ours now, until we leave the stage obedient to
the prompter's word, and the scene shifts, and other players take the stage.

Here in this ruined palace we give wings to the ideal. Fancy rebuilds
the structure, fills it again with gay groups — summer butterflies in a king's
garden — here are mailed-clad knights and cowled priests, and ladies fair as the
dawning of the day. Here the whole Court is astir, and horses and hawkes
are ready in the court-yard ; here a host rides forth to battle, with banners
unfurled in the morning light, and anxious hearts are left behind to ponder on
what the end may be ; here the board is spread, and there is a regal feast, and
the loving cup is circling, and men applaud each other for heroic deeds, and
minstrels sing songs of triumph, but in yonder turret chamber there is a
mourner — and yonder the grass waves over a soldier's grave.

Thoughts such as these are suggested by the ruins of an old castle or
palace, and the vanitas vanitatum of the preacher is enforced by the crumbling
stones. Here are quaint inscriptions and antique devices, mementoes of old
time — but an inscription unseen by the eye is present to the mind on every
part of the old walls: Ichabod, Ichabod, — the glory has departed.

ELTHAM PALACE.

" I passed by the halls of Balcluthau,
And behold they were desolate!"

A barn — nothing but a barn — yet once upon a time it was a regal banqueting
house! " To such base uses may we come at last ! " They called it Eltham,
from eald ham, the old house or dwelling — the veneranda domus of Norman
kings, occupied by royalty until the days of the eighth Henry. Sometimes
the building is called King John's barn, but that cruel, crafty king, had
nothing whatever to do with it. One of the titles of the Prince of Wales is
Earl of Eltham, and it is probable John of Eltham, son of Edward II., is the
person with whom John the king has been confounded.

Here a splendid banquet was served in honour of King John of France
by Edward III.; and here when the Turks had driven Leo of Armenia from
his dominions, he was liberally entertained by Richard II.; and here Queen
Elizabeth in her infancy was often brought over for change of air, from the
royal house at Greenwich; and here in the troublous times of the civil war,
dwelt the Earl of Essex: the palace and most of the land appertaining to it
being subsequently bestowed on Sir John Shaw, in whose family it still remains.

A recent writer says, " The principal remaining portions of the palace are
the banqueting hall, a noble apartment with its magnificent roof of oak, portions
of its music gallery, its two unequalled bays, and its series of double windows
on either side, still in good preservation : the buttery, with its beautiful corbelled
attics and ancient large broad gables ; the ivy covered bridge, with its three
ribbed arches, spanning the moat on the north side ; the curious drains formerly
used as sally ports in cases of emergency, and the battlemented wall, flanked
with loop-holed turrets. As a specimen of domestic architecture of the time
of Edward IV. (whose devices, the falcon and fetterlock, and the rose-en-soleil,
may still be discovered among the carvings of the doorway and oriel windows),
the banqueting hall is of great interest. It was rescued from speedy decay by
repairs undertaken by order of government in 1828, when £700 were
expended on it, though it is still degraded into a barn, as it has been for more
than a century."

Looking round the old banqueting hall, imagination pictures one of those
festive scenes which of old took place within its walls. Tables of oak, some of
them covered with scarlet cloth, are ranged in order, and loaded with provisions.

=—'1

Peacocks, swans, beef, and boars' heads, are here, with all sorts of luxuries
from all parts of the world — luxuries, according to John of Salisbury, " from
Babylon and from Constantinople, from Palestine and from Alexandria, from
Tripoli, Syria and Phoenicia." Here are spice cakes of the finest flour, also
simnel and " wastel" cakes; and to quench the thirst, spiced wine and ypocras,
beer, mead, perry, and cyder! From the viands to the visitors is an easy
transition. Here are the mailed knights, and tissued dames of the chivalric
age; yonder is the king, or his majesty's representative, a look of conscious
strength about him quite unmistakable, and here around are the guests, aa
may be : — -

"Let me have the friends who eat my victuals
As various as mjr dishes — the feast 's naught
Where one huge plate predominates. John Plaintext,
He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ;
The worthy Alderman a buttered dumpling ;
Yon pair of whiskered cornets ruff and rees;
Their friend the dandy a green goose in sippets — -
And so the board is spread at once, and fitted
On the same principle variety."

The neighbourhood of the old hall is interesting. There is a subterranean
passage leading for about a hundred yards in a southerly direction ; there is
an archway marking the entrance to the old tilt-yard, where of old the knights
contended, and did brave deeds before their ladies' eyes. And the Church of
Eltham, though possessing no architectural attraction, is interesting on account,
of the monuments it contains, amongst which are those of Bishop Home, of
Doggett, the comedian, and Sir William James, whose castle stands on.
Shooter's Hill; and besides all this, the place is surrounded by some of the
prettiest scenery in Kent,

DEVONSHIRE-THE TOR.

" Lovely Devonia, land of flowers and songs,
To thee the duteous lay. Thou hast a cloud
For ever in thy sky — a breeze — a shower
For ever on thy meads ; yet where shall man,
Pursuing spring around the globe, refresh
His eye with scenes more beauteous than adorn
Thy fields of matchless verdure."

There is not a fairer or moro beautiful district in all England than Devon
shire ; its pastoral valleys and verdant hills ; its shaggy rocks and bold
headlands ; its rugged moors and cultivated farms, all strike the mind of the
observer with Nature's versatility and excellence.

The Tor, represented in our illustration, is one of the most picturesque parts
of the coast, and once seen is never forgotten. There is something of the
mysterious in the grandeur of Nature, and bold bleak rocks clothed with ivy
and spangled with wild flowers suggest odd fancies. And the superstitions of
the country derive their tone and colour from its physical features ; the green
blades of grass fluttering on some lofty cliff, the crimson flowers growing on
the rocky height and stirred by the breath of the summer, suggest the idea of
Fairies, Pixies, the court of Titania and Oberon ; and no part of the country is
go famous for its fairy superstitions as "lovely Devonia."

Near Teignmouth is the Pixies' cave, a cavern in a limestone cliff— ►

" Aye from the fervent hoat
We to the cave retreat,
O'ercanopied by huge roots, entwined
With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age.
Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,
Beneath whose foliage pale
Fanned by the unfrequent gale,
We shield us from the tyrant's mid-day rage."

The Devonshire Pixies have inspired many a poet with bright, happy thoughts.

They lie under the hedges, they dance on tiie green meadow, they swim in the

pale moonlight, they swarm in every nook — so say the legends — intent on

good or harm, as man may serve them.

" The dapper elves their moonlight sports pursue,
Their pigmy king and little fairy queen
In circling dances gambolled on the green,
While tuneful sprites a merry concert made,

And airy music warbled through the glade."

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DEVONSHIRE— THE TOR.

Although the usual dress of the Fairies was said to be green, on the
moors they were reported to have been observed in heath broom, or in weeds
dyed with lichens. They were said to ride in invisible processions, when their
presence was discovered by the shrill ringing of their bridles : but evening
was always the time best beloved of fairy race :

" Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves,
And ye that on the sand with printless feet
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine on the green do sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe bites not ; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms ; and rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew * * *

Again : —

" 'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell :
The wood tick has kept the minutes well,
She has counted them all with click and stroke,
Deep in the heart of the mountain oak;
And he has awakened the sentry elve,
Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,
To bid him ring the hour of twelve,
And call the fays to their revelry."

But sterner thoughts than those of fairy lore are suggested by the coast
of Devon. Off the coast an English fleet has been stationed more than once
to scare away the foreign vultures on the look out for prey — and in Torbay,
Dutch William cast anchor, when Protestant liberties were endangered by the
Stuart Kino;. Still Devonshire with its inland attractions and coast line
scenery, is so exceedingly beautiful, as to make us forgetful of wars and
rumours of wars as we gaze upon it, while

" Crushed shells,
Rich mosses, tree-like weed, sparkling pebbles,
Enchant the eye, and tempt the eager hand
To violate the fairy paradise."

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PENSHURST.

"Thou art not Pensliurst, built for envious show.
Of stone or marble, or cannot boast a row
Of polished pillars, or a roof of gold.
Thou hast no lantern whereof tales are told,
Or stair or courts : but stand'st an ancient pile,
And (tho' grudged at) art reverenced the while."

Penshukst, the seat of the Sidneys, is situated in the Weald of Kent, nearly
six miles south-west of Tunbridge, and about thirty miles from London. The
exterior of the mansion is marked by the architecture of different periods, and
furnishes some examples of singular incongruity. The Tudor style, however,
predominates, and, thanks to the judicious repairs which have taken place, the
building, — the utter ruin of which appeared a settled thing, — has assumed
much of its ancient character. The interior has also undergone considerable
repair, and although in those " improvements " the new and old are somewhat
awkwardly united, most of the characteristic features of the building have been
preserved. But Penshurst is attractive mainly on account of its associations,
the chronicles of the family to whom it belongs are so intimately associated
with the stirring periods of English history, that a visit to the place is fraught
with interest and instruction.

According to Hasted, the family name is derived from Pen, an old English
word signifying the top of anything, and hyrst, a wood. Until the reign of
Edward VI. the manor of " Peneshurste " was held by a rapid succession of
lords. " In the reign of Edward I. it was in the possession of Sir Stephen de
Peneshurste, or Pencestre, ' a very learned man,' according to Harris, and ' a
famous warden of the Cinque Ports.' In that of Edward II. it was the property
of Sir John de Pulteney, who ' had license to embattle it,' and who was four
times Lord Mayor of London. In that of Richard II. it was sold to the Regent,
Duke of Bedford. On his death, his brother, l the good Duke Humphrey,'
inherited, and on his death — by murder at Bury in 1446 — the estate reverted
to the crown, and was granted by Henry VI. to his kinsman, Humphrey dc
Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. In his family it remained until the reign of
Henry VIII, when by the attainder of Edward, Duke of Buckingham, it fell
to the crown. By Edward VI. it was given to Sir Ralph Fane, but on his
execution as an accomplice of the Protector Somerset, it was by letters patent
granted to Sir William Sidney Cone of the heroes of Flodden Field) and his

68

PENSHURST.

heirs — Sir William being lineally descended from Sir William Sidney, kt,
Chamberlain to the Second Henry, 'with whom he came out of Anjou.' In
1553 his son Sir Henry inherited. Sir Henry was from infancy bred at court,
being ' a companion and many times a bed-fellow ' to the young Prince,
afterwards Edward VI., by whom he was knighted. He was twice Lord
Deputy of Ireland in the reign of Elizabeth — a period of trouble and continued
danger, during which he discharged his duty as an energetic soldier, a sound
practical reformer, and a merciful man. The historians of his time describe
him as 'of a very public spirit, of great abilities, modest, pious, and patient;
and in his younger years, for comeliness and beauty, the ornament of the
court.' "

The eldest son of this worthy gentleman was Sir Philip Sidney, styled the
Incomparable, whose life was a series of romantic adventures. " His learning,
his beauty, his chivalry, his grace, shed a lustre on the most glorious reign
recorded in the English annals." While in retirement at Wilton, he composed
his celebrated "Arcadia." This work was not intended for publication, but
was merely written for the amusement of his sister Mary, Countess of Pem-
broke. He received his death-wound at the battle of Zutphen, 1586.

Sir Philip was succeeded by his brother, Sir Robert, created Lord Sidney
of Penshurst, and afterwards Earl of Leicester, by James I. lie was succeeded
by his son Robert. Though of the Commonwealth party, he led the life of a
quiet gentleman all through the disastrous period of the civil war. Not so his
second son, Algernon Sidney, who on reaching the age of manhood joined the
Parliament, and became a busy soldier, ardently espousing the cause of the
Commons. On the restoration of Charles II. he was abroad, and for many
years thought it unsafe to return. At length, summoned to the death-bed of
his father, he came back, was accused of high treason, implicated in the
notorious Rye House plot, and beheaded on Tower Hill.

It is unnecessary to follow the subsequent fortunes of the Sidneys. Their
seat is now held by a remote branch of the family, but the brave doings of the
old lords have given an interest to Penshurst which time cannot efface.

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HYTHE.

M The boundless store
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields,
The warbling woodbird, the resounding grove,
The pomp of groves and garniture of fields."

Hythe, the name derived from the Saxon for harbour, is one of the chief
Cinque Ports, and is said to have been an ancient Roman station. The
receding of the ocean has gradually left the old town and castle more than
three miles inshore, and has carried away with it the ancient prosperity ot
the place. Hythe, however, is still a place of some importance, and has not
lest all indications of the high position it formerly held. It now stands near
the eastern extremity of Romney marsh, and consists chiefly of one long
street, parallel to the sea coast. Like other Cinque Ports, Hythe has two
well endowed hospitals, which still exist. One of these, dedicated to St.
Bartholomew, was founded in the early part of the fourteenth century by
Bishop Hamo, of Rochester. The other, dedicated to St. John, is of unknown
but early foundation. The church, St. Leonard's, is a cruciform structure,
built in the early English style, and is remarkable for the extreme elegance of
its architecture. In the crypt under the central chancel is an extraordinary
collection of human bones; " many of the sculls have deep cuts in them, and
are thought to have become blanched by long lying on the sea shore. Their
age and date are altogether uncertain, nor can it be fairly assumed that they
are the relics of any battle, in spite of the local hypothesis which makes them
the remains of Britons and Saxons, or Saxons and Danes. A similar collec-
tion once existed at Folkestone, and another at Upchurch, on a creek opening
to the Medway. Mr. Wright has pointed out that no tradition with respect to
the origin of the collection of bones at Hythe existed at the beginning of the
last century, and suggests that they may have come from a Saxon or Roman
cemetery, on which the original church may have been constructed."

During the old war Hythe prospered, in consequence of the lame
military force quartered in its neighbourhood, and its prosperity declined when
it ceased to be a military station. New importance, however, has been
recently given to it by the establishment of a school of musketry on the west
side of the town. " One extra Company-officer, with four or five sero-eants
and corporals, studies rifle drill in it for a period of three months on an
average, and returns to his regiment as Instructor until his promotion."

Additional importance has also been given to the place in connection with the
Rifle Voluntier Movements.

" The whole cast of the scenery about Hythe," says Walcott, " approach-
ing it from the land side, will remind the reader of the opening scene of
Shakespeare's ' As You Like It ; ' with the orchard before the old house, the
lawn in front of the Ducal palace, and the forest of Arden. Every variety of
view is afforded, rich and wild : down in the valley where the stream runs
gurgling among rich pasture lands, and through a ravine edged with dark
coppices and close belts of wood, short fine turf sinks like velvet beneath the
feet ; the visitor is shut out from the world, nothing visible but verdant knolls
and the blue sky, with an occasional peep at the green upland, which the
sheep dapple like the small clouds in the summer heaven. Let him mount the
hill, and he will see below, shelving away, the irregular broken ground, with
slopes towards Sandgate, abrupt and bare, except where the stunted thorn
stems and the wind-curved tree-tops break the sameness ; a church clinging to
the side of a cliff, the town sheltered by noble masses of foliage spread out at
his feet ; and, that which was wanting in Shakespeare's landscape — a magnifi-
cent bay and coast lined with Martello towers ; a view only hemmed in bv a
boundless range of sea."

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DOVER CASTLE.

I made the tower strong, I wist not why,
I strengthened Dover on the mountain high."

High above the sea, its grey walls sharply defined against the clear blue sky,
every tower, bastion, and rampart, distinctly marked with broad gleams of
sunshine and deep masses of shade, stands Dover Castle. So old — so very old,
that as the eye rests upon it, the mind wanders back to the days when Imperial
Rome swayed her sceptre in Britain, and Cicero wrote to Atticus of our bar-
ren coast. See, the Eagle, lord of all the fowls of the heavens, has descended
on the cliff — Caesar is king, and the painted savages must own his sway. The
sunbeam falls on the Roman helmet, as the bronzed heroes of many a well
contested battle stand on the rocky ramparts, and look out toward the dazzling
sea. And now the Imperial banner is no longer seen, and a fair-haired, blue-
eyed group from German forest-land unfurl with many a ringing shout the
white-horse ensign of the Saxons. And slowly — gradually shifting and
changing, new towers and strong walls are rising, and the workman's axe is
sounding as ox-drawn carts toil heavily up the weary steep. At the head
of a gallant company rides Norman William, knowing fully well the worth of
Dover Castle, and resolved to take it, if there be virtue in bent bow and
feathered shaft. Pale faces look out from the slits and loop holes in the walls,
and there is dismay and distraction in the council ; the Conqueror has been
successful, and the last of the Saxon kings has perished on the field of Hastings.
And now the Saxons and Normans have forgotten their ancient feud, and the
hard usage of Christian pilgrims induces belted knight and hopeful squire to
take arms against the Turk. Yonder, on the sapphire sea, are boats and
barges, and a goodly fleet to bear Crusaders to the Holy Land, and Richard
of the lion-heart takes ship from Dover. Strong arms are pulling at the old
bell ropes of St. Martin's, making the tower tremble with their sturdy song ;
merrily, merrily they ring as the red cross knights depart, — presently to mourn
with muffled monotone at the disgrace and disaster brought on our land by
abject crafty John. And now old Dover Castle has to buckle to the fray, for
the French are coming; aye, are come, and have sworn a mighty oath that
they will ne'er retire till the French flag is hoisted on the dunjon, and the
governor hangs on a gibbet. How insolently confident are these over-hasty
French, and how mistaken in their estimate of English prowess — they fail.

And now Dover Castle puts on its silken robes and adorns itself as for a
marriage feast, and hither rides King Edward and his Queen, to keep their
wedding holiday with troops of guests. What merry-making there is ; how
the old walls ring to laughter, how minstrels in grotesque habits sound their
liveliest measures, and set the feet of bravery and beauty a-dancing to the tune !
Surely the old Castle is a rare place for feasting; here come our Edwards
and Henries to make merry ; here in his plumed bonnet and placarded vest,
blazoning with jewels, is King Harry the Eighth and Kate — the injured and
long suffering — on their way to meet King Francis, at the field of the Cloth of
Gold ; and here again is King Harry, bluff and hearty, a little more corpulent
than when he tilted with King Francis, hither come to enjoy a stolen interview
" with his new wife Anne Boleyn." And here he comes again, another wife
upon his royal arm, while Anne lies headless in a prison grave. And Henry's
royal daughter, " good Queen Bess," loves old Dover Castle no less than did
her sire, and the loyal townsfolk present her with a golden cup. And very
loyal was the town — for awhile at least — when Charles was king; but straight
cropped, nasal voiced, Master Dawkes, with a few chosen followers, took it by
guile for the Parliamentary forces, and was so sorely grieved that he had no
reward, that he sickened and died. But Dover Castle was ready with its loyal
wishes for the king's prosperity when Charles II. was restored — and thundered
out a noisy welcome from the cannon's mouth. And what more need be said
than that its grey old walls are still strong — aye, strong enough " to laugh a
siege to scorn !"

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OLD CHAPEL AT SUDBROOK.

" A sacred place for prayer and praise,
Which men unto the Almighty raise."

Towers, churches, palaces, remnants of the old time, possess peculiar interest

for the student of history. As the ivy creeps over the dismantled walls and

clothes the grey stones with a mantle of sheen, so the memories of the past

gather round the remains of an old building, and kindle an interest in the

mind of the spectator. The church whose marble pavements are overgrown

with rank grass, the clustering pillars and cloister walls covered with wild

flowers, the fretted roof through which the sun shines brightly, or the moon

steals softly in the night, recalls thoughts of the proud prelates in their

sacerdotal vestments, the long array of priests and cowled monks who gathered

here of old, and offered prayer and praise with all the gorgeous magnificence

of their faith and times. Where are they now? Gone — all gone — into a

brighter or a darker world — their last Paternoster uttered, their last Ave

sung on this earth. And what a scene of pomp and pageantry the imagination

conjures up in an old palace. Ruined walls, deserted chambers, silence and

desolation in what were once Kings' Courts; but the mind restores the

building, and fills its hails and corridors with the lordly gallants of the old

time, mailed knights, mitred bishops, crowned kings, ladies of high rank and

surpassing beauty, all gathered in tapestried chambers, lighted by windows of

stained glass. How haughtily some of these men carry themselves ! how

much pride lurks under the mitre ! how much envy, hatred and malice looks

out from the bright eyes of the ladies. What plans they are revolving, what

mighty enterprises they propose; what is there in the whole world the King

and his Courtiers cannot do by lance or pen, by battle or by treaty ! What

honour those knights are resolved to win — by their stout falchions they will

make a name in history ! — what subtle schemes my lord bishop cogitates — by

his gilded crozier he will make a bold stroke for the Roman tiara ! And the

ladies, have they no plans, no projects ? nay, but indeed they have, and they

are no less sagacious than the prelate, no less brave than the knight. But

after them all — lords and ladies, peers temporal and spiritual, crowned kings,

and the beggars that lie at the gate — after them all rides a pale horseman,

Death, that mighty hunter — and Time levels the palace, till Kings' Courts are

but dust and ruin.

K

Around some old building there gathers peculiar interest from well
authenticated facts associated with their early history. There are the Tower
steps where Queen Elizabeth gave thanks, and where Ann Boleyn wept and
prayed. There is the old hall where Wolsey held his state, and rivalled his
monarch in splendour ; and there is the prison room where Lady Jane Grey
passed her last night on earth. Such places have a peculiar interest in them
for all who can admire genius, or who can sympathise with sorrow. If stones
had tongues, how many sad eventful histories could they relate — stories of
fierce war and faithful love, and these things are suggested to the imagination as
we gaze in contemplative mood on some time-honoured ruin. Yes, there was a
time when the building was planned, and censors sat in judgment on the
architect's design — a time when he, happy man, was apprized of the adoption
of his plans, with such and such alterations, which those who knew nothing of
building could suggest ; a time when the busy masons, whistling at their work,
piled up stone on stone, and sculptors wrought the graceful tracery for the
interior, and so — "like some tall palm the stately fabric rose." There was a
time when people, who have been dead for centuries, called it new and praised
or blamed its fair proportions. But things are changed. Death has reaped
many a harvest since those days, and Time has levelled many a stately edifice,
and here we stand moralising on the rnin. Sic tranit gloria mundi.

The old ruin at Sudbrook, represented in our illustration, is suggestive of
such thoughts as these. Apart from them, there is little interest in the
building, little interest in the place itself. Sudbrook is a parish in the upper
division of the hundred of Caldicot, county Monmouth, and has declined so
much in importance that no return of its population has been made of late
years. But — " once upon a time," — that far off", mysterious, but prolific age,
— "once upon a time," the old church was a beautiful structure — the attraction
of the neighbourhood — and it retains something of its faded beauty even in its
lecay.

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WORTHING.

" To leave the strife and petty cares
That crowd the city's mart,
And bask in summer's warm sea air,
Is pleasant to my heart.''

"Worthing, once upon a time, was a notorious resort for smugglers : but a
better coast-guard system, and a wide extension of Free Trade, have driven
Will Watch and his fellows to another business, and left Worthing to grow
into a respectable and somewhat attractive watering place. The scenery in
the neighbourhood is exceedingly fine ; an amphitheatre of hills runs parallel
with the shore ; bold acclivities, with sheltered nooks diversifying the picture,
and corn fields and grass lands extending around for many a mile.

The town of Worthing rose into importance on the visit of the Princess
Amelia, wno resided there for the benefit of the sea air in 1797. The town
then consisted of a few scattered cottages, but royally patronized : the cottages
were transformed into villas : Esplanades, Crescents, and Parades sprung up
as though by magic ; noble and wealthy people came from all parts to enjoy
the salubrious climate, and very soon the place became distinguished, its
yellow sands covered with visitors, its blue waters dotted with yachts.

What a marvellous change can be effected by a little patronage from
royal quarters. What place is there on the sea coast, or anywhere else, that
would not rise into importance if a crowned head graciously bestowed its
patronage? Besides, we English, are a gregarious race — we run in flocks —
and when nobility takes up its quarters at a watering-place, or elsewhere, and
it becomes fashionable to visit that place, at this, or that, or the other season
of the year, Society, that great mysterious body, is amazingly particular to
follow the lead.

Round about Worthing are many interesting spots. There is Sompting
with its singular old church : and Broadwater with its Norman edifice,
identified with the days of the Crusaders ; there is Cissbury with its ancient
earthwork, traditionally ascribed to the Saxon Ella ; here also is an ancient
camp, and the remains of a British village ; but the views inland and seaward
are the most attractive features of the locality.

" Here the bleak mountains speckled thus with sheep,
Gray clouds that shadowing spot the sunny fields,
And river now with bushy banks o'er reached,
Now winding bright and full with naked banks 5
And seats and lawns, the castle and the wood,
And cots and hamlets, and faint city spire,
The channel there, the islands and white sails, •
Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless ocean."

Such diversities of scenery are very delightful to the admirer of the
picturesque, and render Worthing more attractive than its neighbour
Brighton.

Queen Caroline, the Princess Charlotte, the late King of Hanover, Queen
Adelaide, and a large number of the highest aristocracy, have by their visits
rendered Worthing a fashionable place. Before these visits were made, an
acre of ground was valued at five gallons of brandy !

The climate of Worthing is remarkably mild and genial, " myrtles become
almost trees, sometimes growing to a height of twenty feet from the ground,
figs ripen in the open air, and the corn fields approach so close to the sea that
the light feet of Camilla might pass from one to the other without a break."

Southey describes the appearance of Worthing from Cissbury, as that of
" a ruined city, such as Balbec or Palmyra, in the distance, on the edge of
what we knew to be sea, but what might as well have been a desert, for it was
so variegated with streaks of sunshine and of shade."

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BROADSTAIKS.

" Ev'n gladly I exchange yon spring green lanes,
With all the darling field flowers in their prime,
And gardens haunted by the nightingale's
Long trills and gushing ecstasies of song,
For those bare summits and the seamew's clang

o-

In the summer time a few days' or a few weeks' escape from London, or any
other hard-working, smoke drying town, is much to be desired. It is a
pleasant thing to be whirled away from a focus of trade and commerce by that
great magician Steam, and to find ourselves among green fields, flowery
hedgerows, mossy dells, and murmuring streamlets i to sit beneath the leafy
canopy of trees and hear the birds singing madrigals. But we are a sea-
loving people, and most of us make for the sea shore. We love to look on the
grand old cliffs of Albion, and to watch the purple sea gilded by sunshine and
looking like an imperial robe ; we love to climb some lofty height and catch a
glimpse perhaps of our neighbour's coast — the rocks of Gaul. Some of us
enjoy solitude and seek the abode of a hermit, some of us pine, even in the
country for town, and mingle in the mare magnum of the world even on the
sea coast.

" Though no watering-place can yet trace a pedigree one century old,
within that brief period the country has witnessed the greatest revolutions in
taste, science, and manners. The most signal triumphs of human skill are
witnessed in the iron roads, which brine; down to the coast the wearv men of
professions and business, the jaded student, and the delicate woman seeking
repose and health, or the artisan and mechanic escaping from the close streets
and ceaseless din of towns. These triumphs are seen in the steam ships in the
offing : in the electric cable that links the opposite shores, or communicates
almost momentarily a message to friends a hundred leagues away : and in the
plate under the black tent, in which sunlight itself paints the whole scene."

Such advantages as these have made ours an age of travel, and every
season sends its thousands and tens of thousands to recruit health and spirits
on the sea coast.

Many of the most favourite watering places edge the south coast of
England. There is Folkestone, and Dover, and Deal, and Margate, and Earns-
gate, and Hastings, and Brighton, and Worthing, and many others. The most

popular of all, perhaps, are places contained in the Isle of Thanet. Of old the
rhyme ran thus, describing the men of that district :

" Ramsgate herrings, Peter lings,
Broadstairs scrubs, and Margate Kings,"

but that was in the old wrecking time before railways.

Broadstairs, now-a-days, is a genteel quiet watering place, and in some
respects is superior to Margate or Ramsgate. "There are good people — and good
natured — to be found in and about Broadstairs, and the spot itself is charming.
With some occupation and with pursuits requiring quiet, one may pass a
blessed time there. The little green esplanade above the cliffs, with its neat
row of houses ; the hills that slope away from the shore ; the miniature port,
with its rough quay and small coasters and fishing boats, and the glorious
open sea, afford delight to the eye. Away from the cliffs and behind the town
are some little green enclosures, flanked on one side, by small clean looking
houses, that look delightfully cool and quiet — almost like the inner court of a
Benedictine convent in Italy."

The breadth of its sea gate, or entrance, has given the name of Broad
stairs to this place. The passage was formerly defended by strong doors
within a stone portal arch, some part of which remains. A little above was a
Chapel dedicated to " Our Lady of Broadstairs," of so great reputation that
ships lowered their topsails in sailing by it. Some of the remains of this
building are seen in the Baptist Chapel which occupies its site.

The sands of Broadstairs are exceedingly good and firm, and there are
excellent facilities for bathing. The sea view from the Cliff Parade is strikingly
picturesque. A wooden pier was built here in the reign of Queen Elizabeth,
was repaired after a terrible storm in 1667, and the present structure was
constructed at the beginning of the present century. The church is described
by Dickens as a " hideous temple of flint, like a great petrified haystack."
But as people do not go to the sea-side to study church architecture, this is
not a matter of much importance to the visitor.

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AVON VIADUCT.

Viaducts are of considerable importance in all engineering works. They
have been employed from a very early period, and some highly interestin r
remains both of Viaducts and Aqueducts attest the intelligence and skill cf
the ancients, as applied to such constructions. Since the introduction of
railways, Viaducts have become more generally necessary, the inequalities of
the ground over which many of our iron roads extend, rendering such
erections essential.

The Viaduct across the Weaver, on the Grand Junction Railwav, is one
of the earliest erected. It consists of twenty arches of sixty feet span, is 1484
feet long, eighty -four feet in mean height from the foundation to the top of
the parapet, and thirty feet in mean width above ground. The whole mass
contains about 138,500 cubic yards, and cost about £53,000. It is built of
stone upon piled foundations.

Some of the modern Viaducts are of brick, although the difference of
cost, when estimated in cubic feet, is inconsiderable. The Stockport Viaduct,
on the Manchester and Birmingham line, is a plain substantial structure of
brick and stone, its extreme length is 1792 feet, its height ninety feet, and
width thirty-two. It consists of twenty-six semi-circular arches, of which
all but four have a span of sixty-three feet. Engineers estimate the difference
of cost between the Weaver and Stockport Viaducts to be one penny per cubic
foot — to the advantage of the latter. They account for the equality — which
considering the difference of the material, is striking — by stating that the piers
and openings in the Weaver Viaduct are as eighty to sixty, while those of the
Stockport are as ten to sixty-three, and also that expense was saved in the
foundation of the former by the use of piling.

The Dane Viaduct, also on the Manchester and Birmingham line, is
almost entirely constructed of brick, and cost on the average but 6s. 3d. per
eubic foot. This is readily accounted for by the fact that the same carpentry
tvas employed in its erection as that which was used in building the Stockport
Viaduct, and that thus a large incidental expense was saved. The Dane
Viaduct is 1717 feet in length, about eighty feet in height, and thirty in
width. It consists of twenty-three arches of sixty-three feet'span.

The Viaduct represented in our engraving is that which is throw i over
the Avon vallev, at Ru«;bv, on the Midland Counties line. The entire length

of this structure is 720 feet; its mean height fifty-one, and mean width
thirty and a half feet. It is composed almost entirely of brick, but was
extremely expensive, costing on the average 7s. 4|d. per square yard, only a
trifle lower than the stone structure ov'er the Weaver. This is accounted for
" by the semi-elliptical form of the arches, which requires a considerable
excess of brickwork in the haunches, and by the disproportionate extent of
their span, which is fifty feet, compared with the height of the Viaduct."

Timber Viaducts have occasionally been employed with some success,
though less saving of expense than might have been anticipated. At the
junction of the Tame and Trent, on the Birmingham and Derby line, there is
a timber Viaduct nearly thirteen hundred feet long, but the average cost was
7s. 2d. per cubic yard. The Wellington Dean Viaduct, another of these
wooden structures, cost 7s. Id. per cubic yard ; and the Railway bridge — also
of timber — thrown over the Seine at Berzons, cost 8s. 9d. per cubic yard.

Many highly interesting experiments have been made by our most
eminent engineers to improve and cheapen the construction of railway
viaducts, but our limits forbid our entering on the subject in this place.
Railways have given new impetus to engineering skill, and the construction of
such buildings as the Tubular Bridge over the St. Lawrence, is incontestible
evidence of the advancement made within the last few years — but the earlier
efforts of our engineers are not unworthy of our attention, marking as they do
the steady progress which has been gradually made in science and mechan-
ical an.